


Downtime

by hartwinning



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Awkward Flirting, Brief mention of drugs, Complete Fic is Teen Rated, Eggsy as Galahad, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Harry Hart Lives, Harry as Arthur, M/M, Only Afterword is Explicit, Tons of Swearing because Eggsy, UST, roxy and eggsy are BFFs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartwinning/pseuds/hartwinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <br/>
  <i>"Harry," Eggsy says finally, "I am so so sorry about this. I'll come over to Arthur's house, so thank you for that, it's just, there's this small matter of... I haven't got any clothes on."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The comms are silent. Eggsy checks to make sure his signal is still on.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I beg your pardon?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Well, I've got briefs on, at least, and socks."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Socks?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"My feet get cold."</i>
</p><p>~</p><p>What our dear knights get up to in their spare time - life in between missions at UK HQ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spa Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry insists on Eggsy accompanying him to the Kingsman day spa. Eggsy rolls his eyes non-stop for the first half hour but by the time they get around to the full-body massages Harry has a tough time dragging Eggsy out of the spa to get back to work.

_**I. Spa Day**_  
  
  
  
Eggsy had a couple of hours to kill before he was due for a new mission brief with Harry and Merlin in UK HQ at 3pm. He was already at the mansion and didn't think he had enough time to pop back home for proper tea with his little sister Daisy, so he set about in search of Roxy, maybe make good on his promise of giving her freerunning lessons around the trainee obstacle course.

His plan was derailed when he caught sight of Harry coming out of one of the mansion's private quarters wearing nothing but a fluffy white robe and a pair of Kingsman-issued cashmere slippers.

Harry Hart - now Arthur, the CEO/CFO/Chief Badass of Kingsman, walking around HQ, in nothing but a bath robe.

Eggsy approached him warily; Harry had ostensibly made a miraculous recovery from Richmond Valentine's poorly aimed gunshot, with a scar above his left eye the only cosmetic reminder post-coma, but one could never be too careful. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that brain damage had spurred an early onset of mild dementia.

"Ah, Galahad," Harry says and gives Eggsy a warm smile, "thought I might head in for a quick spa session before our meeting later this afternoon."

Eggsy blinks at him, about 90% sure now that Harry had gone mental. "I'm sorry, a what? To where?"

"The Kingsman day spa, Eggsy. Surely you - ah, of course," Harry realizes, "You and Merlin were so busy with the clean-up after V-day, no one was available to give you the full tour of our facilities here at HQ. Kingsman estate houses a full-service spa. It's not available 'round the clock unfortunately. Agents who request spa services are often called away on missions by the time the estheticians are available to book appointments, so it takes a bit of luck with the timing to get a session in." Harry stops mid-speech at Eggsy's obvious confusion.

"Eggsy," Harry says slowly, eyes glinting with mischief, "you've never had a spa day, have you? Then you absolutely must join me! It's by appointment only but I'm sure they can squeeze you in. Being Arthur's got to have some sway around here, despite what Merlin would like everyone to believe. Come on, I'm sure they've got a spare robe for you."

"Err thanks Harry, but I'd rather hang with Roxy and do normal... pleb stuff," Eggsy mumbles, slowly backing away, trying to push back against the proverbial silver spoon that's been slowly wedging its way up Eggsy's unwilling arse since the day he met Harry Hart.

"Nonsense! We can head to our meeting together afterward. It works out perfectly."

Spa day?? Eggsy makes a mental note never to put forth any of his mates from the estate, loyal and born fighters as they are, as candidates for recruitment. He would never live this down. There was no turning back from this.

"Come along, Eggsy. If not for the learning experience, then how about for shits and giggles?"

Eggsy surrenders, because it's Harry and because - did Harry just pout at him?!

"Yeah, alright."  
  
  
**+**

 

Eggsy's eyes roll back as far as they can go as soon as he's slumped down into one of the plush leather chairs in preparation for their - you have got to be takin the piss - manicures.

"Harrrry," he whines, "the fuck are they gonna do to me??"

"Oh hush, Eggsy. It's just a quick nail trim, then a bit of shaping and buffing. Certainly nothing too far off from basic care and maintenance," Harry huffs.

When Eggsy finally settles down and stops fidgeting at the unfamiliar sensation of being pampered, he gets comfortable enough to lay his head back and close his eyes. He admits grudgingly that the hand massage and heated mittens (!) in particular are not actually terrible. Better than being tortured for information at least.

Or is it?

Eggsy snaps his eyes open when Sonya, his … cosmetologist … starts working on his feet. A giggle escapes from his lips when she buffs away the calluses and Eggsy dissolves into full out laughter once she begins the foot massage. Eggsy splashes water everywhere each time he pulls his feet away from Sonya's grasp when it gets to be too much.

"Galahad, you cannot possibly be that ticklish," Harry scolds. "Perhaps I should add tickling to your next training module on withstanding torture and interrogation."

Eggsy pouts and wipes the laughter tears from his face. "Wanker," he hisses at Harry.

Having survived the torture - fortunately Sonya had no interest in gaining Kingsman trade secrets through tickles - Eggsy holds out a hand for Harry's inspection. "Huh. Feels good, yeah?" Eggsy marvels. "Almost as soft as Daisy's."

"Mmm," Harry agrees as he reaches out to take Eggsy's hand then runs his thumb lightly across Eggsy's knuckles.

Eggsy blushes and turns their hands over so Harry's is resting on top of his, which just makes everything worse. Even without the posh hand treatments Eggsy has a habit of staring at Harry's hands - he's very expressive with them - instead of listening during meetings. Now the hand Eggsy's holding is milky white, thick veins a sharp contrast, nails perfectly trimmed at the tips of those long loooong fingers...

Eggsy is literally pulled from his reverie and escorted by Harry into the next torture chamber.  
  
  
**+**

 

Eggsy suffers through the creepy sensation of cold goop being applied to his face and resists the urge to fidget and tap out a nonstop rhythm of S.O.S. in Morse code. When Sonya deems his (already perfect, fank you very much) face sufficiently covered in slime, he croaks out, "That is RANK, Harry," which he immediately regrets as he ends up with some of the slime in his mouth. "The fuck is this shite?"

"Quiet please, sir, mask has Vitamin C, not for eating," Sonya advises in her heavily-accented English, and Harry is eternally grateful to her for effectively pressing the mute button on further Eggsy invective.

Eggsy finds himself lulled into shallow sleep as Sonya goes through the motions of cleaning off the mask - after Eggsy takes a selfie cuz it's hilarious how it looks like his face is melting off, maybe he should give mum and Daisy a good scare - then applying various creams and potions through gentle massage, ending the session by draping a refreshing cool washcloth over his face. Eggsy reasons that if a pleb like him can survive these 'spa treatments for toffs' then his mum would be in absolute heaven in a place like this. He decides on the spot to gift her a spa day for her next birthday.

Harry's soft voice breaks the silence once the washcloths are lifted. "Alright then, Galahad?"

Eggsy cracks one eye open with exaggerated effort. "Aces, guv."

Harry lets that slide for now. Eggsy replaced 'bruv' in favor of 'guv' when Harry was instated as Arthur - a marginal improvement if you ask Harry, who's perhaps a bit jealous that Merlin has always been THE guv'nor to Eggsy. Harry also acknowledges that codename Arthur has been tainted for Eggsy, so Harry never insists on it. Although... Harry considers, there is another designation (which just so happens to rhyme with 'bruv' and 'guv') that Harry wouldn't mind having directed at him. He chooses not to dwell on it for the time being.  
  
  
**+**

 

"So what's next, then?" Eggsy asks, stretching his arms out and yawning luxuriously like the pampered bratty twat persona he never imagined would suit him so well.

"Full body massages."

"YES, Harry!!" Eggsy jostles his way past Harry into the dimly lit room.

"- but only if you're capable of exhibiting greater control over your body than you did during that embarrassing display earlier today," Harry continues. "Kindly let Hélène your masseuse know if there's a particular area you would like her to work on. If I remember correctly you complained of a tight hamstring during your most recent check-up?"

Harry's question falls on deaf ears as Eggsy is already sprawled out on one of the padded tables, arms dangling over the edge and face smushed eagerly into the cushion at the head of the massage table. Hélène arranges a towel over him and tugs gently at the elastic of his briefs, "Off please, Mr. Galahad," she requests, and holds up the towel for Eggsy's discretion as he wiggles out of his briefs.

After settling back down, Eggsy whips his head around toward Harry's table in time to catch an all too fleeting glimpse of Harry's bare bum as Eric, the other masseur, repositions the towel over Harry. Eggsy couldn't care less about being starkers during this bit; any trace of self-consciousness about his body has been stripped away after one too many harried encounters in the Kingsman locker rooms, rushing to and from missions, live video recordings during the rare honeypots in which he has to 'gain biblical knowledge' of an asset, and endless trips to med bay where he's relentlessly poked at and prodded. No, Eggsy curses his lack of familiarity with spa etiquette, as he would have undoubtedly taken full advantage of the prime opportunity to ogle Harry Hart had he known they were to be fully naked underneath the towels. "Bollocks," Eggsy curses under his breath at the missed opportunity.

All frustration - all 25 years' worth - melts away as soon as Hélène's firm touch begins to knead away at the knots in his back.

"Ohhh yesssssss, very verrry nice," Eggsy drawls out in a pornographic groan, Hélène's hands working their expert magic on his neglected muscles. "Fuuuuuck me."

Harry realizes swiftly that he would be unable to survive the rest of the massage (possibly the rest of life) unless he puts an end to the symphony of Eggsy's blissful, bawdy moaning. He lifts a hand up as warning to Eric before propping himself up on his elbows.

"Galahad, quiet meditation and introspection are essential parts of the whole spa experience. We can all do without your sound effects, please have some consideration." 

Eggsy, brain turned to mush, can't come up with a suitable comeback and settles for a final muffled "mmph."

The following 40 minutes of quiet meditation and introspection pass too quickly; the mission brief with Merlin looms in the distance. Harry picks himself up off the table and wraps a towel around his midsection. Eric hands him his Bremont and Harry points at it to Hélène and holds up five fingers as a silent 5-minute warning for Eggsy's massage. She nods in acknowledgement and he heads to the showers.

Harry returns, trousers and shirt on but sans cufflinks, to find Eggsy still laid out on the table. Hélène bites her lip in apology and gives a helpless shrug of her shoulders. Harry shakes his head fondly and gives her a smile before dismissing her. He understands all too well how difficult it can be to resist Eggsy, all winks and pouts and "please, luv"s.

"Eggsy."

" 'arry please just 10 more minutes I swear on me life I'll get up."

Harry sighs and moves to stand next to Eggsy on the table. Staring down at Eggsy's back - broad, muscled and slick with oil - Harry makes a decision. He rolls up his sleeves, pours a bit of oil into his palms to warm them up then begins to rub Eggsy's shoulders.

Harry can feel Eggsy tense up for a split second before whimpering, "Yesss, Harryyy." Because Hélène's hands on his back were the best thing in the world but Harry's lethal, callused, killer hands - wide enough to span the full length of Eggsy's waist when spread - they're the best thing in the entire. goddamn. universe. Fuck Merlin and the mission brief, fuck Kingsman, he'll just lie here forever, goodbye world, he had a good run, this is it for Eggsy Unwin codename Galahad.

On the third or fourth pass (who's counting? Not Eggsy!) Harry pauses with his hands on Eggsy's waist.

Suddenly his grip tightens and Eggsy is being hauled up by his waist, Harry lifting him off the table with as much ease as he handles little Daisy. Eggsy yelps and doesn't even have time to wrap a towel around himself before Harry Hart codename Arsehole is carrying him like a fuckin screaming child, down the hallway, Eggsy's face bright red and limbs flying as they pass a bewildered Eric and Hélène and - fuckin' hell - Bors and Tristan on their way to some stupid shite spa treatment room. He's deposited carelessly into the shower stall and the showerhead is turned on full blast. Harry turns on his heel and ignores the steady stream of "You fuckin wanker, I fuckin hate you, piece of shite!" following him out of the bathroom.

Harry Hart, calm and collected gentleman spy babysitter, thanks the two masseurs profusely and palms them each a crisp 50-pound note before taking his leave. He makes his way to Merlin's subterranean dungeon, trusting Eggsy to follow. He vaguely recalls telling Eggsy they would walk to the mission brief together, but decides he's dealt with enough already today; he doesn't need the sight of Merlin raising his eyebrows at Harry and his protégé walking in together, both flushed and freshly-showered, with at least one of them sporting a wide, satisfied grin.

 

 

_**Fin** _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite scene in the movie was the armory in fitting room 3, where Eggsy was all winks and wide-eyed wonder. I wanted more of that Eggsy, before he transformed to full-on posh, so that's where the tone of this chapter came from. 
> 
> Yeah 50 gbp is probably overkill for a tip but Harry's a baller so...
> 
> Next chapter: Freerunning around the estate, Roxy (not Eggsy) is teacher's pet, hark! a Percival sighting!, plus sassy Merlin and maybe a brief flashback borrowed from a scene in _Love, Actually_. Oops.


	2. Traceur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sass is strong with Merlin, Lancelot and Percival are cuties and I desperately need an extended scene of their 24 hours together before the dog test please @ Matthew Vaughn, Eggsy is a bendy tease, Roxy and Eggsy are BFFs, Merlin and Harry are no longer BFFs, Harry considers investing in new technology, and I spy with my little eye a _Love, Actually_ reference.
> 
> * Traceur is someone who participates in parkour or freerunning.

_**II. Traceur**_

  

Harry was several minutes early for his appointment with Merlin and was strolling along the manicured lawn of the Kingsman estate, The Rainmaker's curved handle tucked into the crook of his arm. It was a beautiful day, cool in the shade and warm in the sun. There was no reason for Harry to leave his office above the shop on Savile Row; he and Merlin conduct business via video conference or hologram on a regular basis. Harry allowed himself this rare indulgence, a brief respite from the suffocating mountain of paperwork in his office. He was hoping that the fresh air at the estate would also provide some relief from a recurring migraine, another souvenir from that bloody billionaire Yankees-snapback-wielding misguided genius.

And if Harry just happens to run into Eggsy, whom he doesn't see as often now that Harry's either holed up in his office or out and about in London kissing VIP arse in an effort to repair diplomatic relations and forge new alliances - well, two birds with one stone.

Harry quickens his pace when the mild breeze carries over the familiar sound of Roxy's voice. Wherever Roxy is Eggsy is sure to be nearby. Harry resumes a more leisurely stroll as he rounds the corner. Sure enough, he sees the pair sprawled out on the wide stone terrace that wraps around the mansion, decked out in matching Kingsman-issued heather grey fleece tracksuits. Roxy's poodle, Victoria (after Helen Mirren's character in RED, not the queen) is sitting on her hind legs, ears perked up and posture alert. JB is lying on his side, all four legs tucked into his squat little body, both eyes closed and face turned upward in reverence to god knows what as he sunbathes. The two young agents are in the middle of a stretching routine.

Eggsy is standing, one leg on the ground and the other propped up on the hip-height balustrade framing the terrace. The upper half of his body is bent flush over his leg as if someone had folded him neatly in half, hands reaching well past his feet and cheek resting comfortably on his leg.

Harry has kept up with the strict, bordering on obsessive, fitness regimen of his Galahad days and has been a regular practitioner of yoga for several years. He is acutely aware of Eggsy's gymnastics background but to see him so effortlessly flexible and _bendy_ , Harry's heart speeds up - silently, 0-60 in under 4 seconds, just like the Tesla roadsters and BMW i8s Kingsman's been procuring to replace its fleet of petrol-powered vehicles (Kingsman may have thwarted Valentine's human culling but his message of 'Mother Earth is getting fucked and the empty promises of the rich and powerful are the ones doing the buggering' stayed with them). Fortunately Harry hasn't lost the ability to slow down his heart rate on demand using a technique he perfected after a run-in with the FSB (ФСБ), during which a Russian interrogator had come dangerously close to uncovering blackmail material exclusive to Kingsman who've been lording it over US intelligence since 1963.

"Oi, Harry!" Eggsy straightens up with Marine corps swiftness when he catches sight of Harry and gives him an enthusiastic wave.

Harry smiles and nods in greeting to Roxy and Eggsy. Harry does a double-take when he thinks he sees Victoria the poodle give him a nod in return. He's tempted to give JB a little nudge with his umbrella just to get a small sign of acknowledgement from the pug but he reconsiders and bends down to sink his manicured nails into JB's fat rolls instead.

"Lancelot, Galahad. Nice day for a run, though I would strongly advise to stick to the shaded groves."

"Actually," Eggsy does a couple of side stretches and winks at Roxy, " 'm givin Roxelot her first freerunning lesson over 'round the trainee obstacle course. I'm thinking short drops n rolls t'start off with." He cocks a patchy eyebrow at Harry, "Wanna join?"

"Unfortunately I have a meeting with Merlin in -," Harry looks at his Bremont, "- oh bollocks, five minutes ago," then turns to Eggsy with a straight face, "Perhaps next time."

"Yeah, Harry? Is tha a promise? I'ma hold you to it." Eggsy's face is bright and hopeful without a hint of mockery.

"No, Eggsy," Harry chides, and gets a pout in return. Harry rolls his eyes but is secretly flattered that 'Harry Hart swinging on railings and backflipping off walls' is somehow a feasible notion to Eggsy.

It brings to mind an incident during his post-Kentucky convalescence in a hidden retreat in Provence. Harry's grateful that Eggsy wasn't around to witness his clumsy hop over a rickety balcony in a desperate attempt to salvage pages of a classified document that had been swept away by a sudden gust of wind and dumped into the nearby lake. He managed to save most of the document and the scant few pages that did drown, well, he trusted the eels at the bottom of the lake would keep his secrets. 

Harry turns to Roxy, "I have no doubt you'll pick this up as easily as you do everything else, Lancelot, but don't allow your instructor to spend the entire session showing off."

"Oi, you're one to talk! Mr. Show Off 'imself," accuses Eggsy.

Roxy chuckles then bows her head. "Yes, Arthur." 

Harry takes his leave of the two agents, the poodle, and the little menace, and hurries over to Merlin's dungeon, a snide "Late again, Arthur" already echoing in the back of his mind.

  

**+**

   

Two hours into his meeting with Merlin (half an hour spent on official Kingsman business and the rest of the time on gossip - it's fortunate that Merlin is the only Kingsman whose goings on are never monitored) Harry begins to feel antsy in Merlin's windowless mad scientist laboratory. "Merlin, care to join me for a walk along the grounds while you continue to enlighten me on the physics behind Lexus' new hoverboards?" Harry proposes, blinking up at Merlin innocently. It's not as if he has an ulterior motive. "Percutaneous absorption of Vitamin D would do wonders for your flesh prison."

"We have supplements for that, Harry, they've been around since the early 20th century, since the coinage of the term 'deficiency diseases', rickets and the like," Merlin retorts without missing a beat, but slowly rises from his chair nonetheless and tucks his clipboard under his arm. "Off we go then, Siri informs me today will be the only rain-free day of the week."

  

**+**

  

The sound of voices - Roxy's and two male ones - reach Harry and Merlin as soon as they're above ground and outdoors, spyglass lenses darkening in unison to shield against the sunlight.

Eggsy must be an efficient instructor if the group - Eggsy and Roxy, now joined by Percival  - advanced to scaling actual buildings (in this case, the mansion) in the course of two hours. 

Merlin would complain about the unorthodox treatment of the century-old designated heritage site but Eggsy is UK Kingsman's first and only freerunner and Merlin is determined he won't be the last. Kingsman France's current roster of agents boasts no less than three traceurs in its ranks. Merlin once threatened to hack the Eiffel Tower light show to display a glittering cascade of penis-shaped lights unless they stopped sending him pre-recorded feeds, edited with hipster twat Instagram filters, of their agents in standard issue custom Dior Couture suiting (one time he had shown Eggsy the feed of an undercover female agent wearing skinny jeans and the most garish patterned Chanel tweed jacket - "And here you thought your chav gear was fancy, Eggsy") flying across Paris rooftops like some live action Studio Ghibli sequence - "Merlin, regardez les traceurs!" - connards, the lot of them. He was a bit disappointed when the videos stopped coming in - Eiffel penis beacon would have been fucking spectacular.

Harry and Merlin - after moving off to the side a bit after JB had complained with a "boof" that they were blocking his sun - were just in time to see Eggsy demonstrate a short sequence before breaking it down into segments for teaching purposes. 

Running across the lawn toward the terrace and running up the terrace wall, grabbing hold of the top of the balustrade (wall pass) to haul his body over it, both legs off to one side as he clears the balustrade (two-hand vault) and lands on the terrace, then running across the terrace (simulated [wall run](http://33.media.tumblr.com/8f95a1e1731ca5c4593c3d743c4b6d51/tumblr_nnnc409Cev1tk4wuwo6_250.gif)) to gain momentum for the final vault, legs tucked underneath his body in between his arms ([cat pass](http://33.media.tumblr.com/66dcda681a22aacdc2436ec6c80830bc/tumblr_nnnc409Cev1tk4wuwo2_250.gif)) as he clears the balustrade and ends up back out on the lawn.

Victoria runs alongside her mistress on the lawn as Roxy practices the wall pass, pausing often right before the vertical climb, lacking confidence that she had gained enough momentum to propel her body up and over. She looked a bit like a gymnast sprinting down the runway toward a vault; Eggsy had appeared more fluid, limbs looser. No doubt it would come with practice. Eggsy suggested to Roxy she should pretend she had on Gazelle's spring loaded prosthetics - minus the blades that had put a quick end to the previous Lancelot - taking very wide steps, bouncing at each step during the run-up to the wall. They practiced the sequence, Roxy pausing to catch her breath in between each vault for the first few trials until she was able to do the full sequence without interruption.

Percival had elected to skip this part of the lesson in favor of squat jumps which Eggsy had recommended to strengthen his legs, jumping higher and higher at each repetition. He had been with Eggsy and Roxy at the trainee obstacle course, working on gap jumps - useful for hopping from one rooftop to another - and [precision jumps](http://33.media.tumblr.com/89139e8f944586257fb638b6d3b8c12c/tumblr_nnnc409Cev1tk4wuwo7_250.gif) for when a wider landing surface wasn't available.  
  
Percival is Kingsman's most accurate long-range sniper. He once had a successful kill from a distance of 2500 m, which would have set a record for longest sniper kill, were in not for the fact that Kingsman agents and their accomplishments are kept strictly off the record. He could think of several instances where gap jumps would have shaved several minutes off his ETA to the extraction team, instead of relying on his handler for turn-by-turn directions along crowded public walkways. Kingsman pilots were fond of appropriating hospital helipads for purposes of agent extraction; easy enough to pose as a proper medevac team with full med kits available in all of their helicopters. Not that they were ever caught, handlers always make sure official medevac teams are nowhere near the area before clearing Kingsman helos for landing.  
  
Eggsy declares an end to the lesson after observing Roxy begin to waver on her technique, hauling herself over the obstacles through brute force of will rather than proper timing and footwork. Eggsy didn't want to risk injury, they had been at it for over two hours and had made fantastic progress, not surprising at all with Roxy involved.  
  
The two agents collapse in front of Merlin and the two senior agents. Eggsy sits down on the ground with legs extended in front of him. Roxy kneels by his feet and pushes down on them to stretch out his shins. Eggsy leans back on his elbows and smiles up at Percival, still occupied with squat jumps.  
  
He was quite a sight. Percival's glasses would bounce off his nose and slide halfway down his face at each jump, and he'd push them back up as he bent down to a squat. "Anything you can do about this, Merlin?" asks Percival in between reps, tone teasing but gentle, "Hovering spyglasses for temporary mid-air suspension, perhaps?"

Eggsy moves on to hamstring stretches while Merlin takes a few minutes to consider. Eggsy bats Roxy's hand away when she hesitates at his request to rotate his leg beyond a 120-degree angle, afraid she'd hurt him. He takes his own leg and stretches it well past a dignified angle, until he's practically doing an upside-down split, the foot of his outstretched leg touching the ground above his head. It's positively obscene.

Harry is suddenly very interested in JB, bending down to massage his fat rolls as the pug tries in vain to wriggle away to a sunnier spot. Fortunately JB's labored panting is louder than Harry's. Harry thinks Eggsy holding that position for over a minute is a tad excessive, even if he's complained about tight hamstrings in the past.

Merlin ignores Eggsy, eyes narrowed to a squint as if drawing blueprints in his mind for prototype momentary gravity-defying spyglasses. "You know, Percy," he concludes, "rhinoplasty would be a far cheaper option."

Roxy barks out a laugh and Eggsy makes the universal "Oh, snap!" gesture, not quite as effective with a leg up around his ears, but his facial expression gets the point across.

"If you can wait a bit Percy, I'll escort Harry to the subway then perhaps we could take a quick look at your glasses. We might be able to do something about the temples."

Percival narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"No scalpels, Percy, I promise."

Percival lifts an eyebrow at Roxy as if asking her what she thought the likelihood was of him being drugged and waking up tomorrow morning with a straight barbell piercing across his nose bridge.

Merlin rolls his eyes at the two of them and sighs, "Just a simple adjustment - any optician can do it since you obviously have little to zero faith in me - a sharper bend of the temple tips for a more snug fit and the glasses should stop bouncing around so much."

Percival winks at Roxy before following Harry and Merlin into the mansion.

  

**+**

  

They drop Percival off at the lab before making their way down to the subway station across from the underground hangar.

"You know if the boy were attached I would back off immediately," Harry whines, "It's a mystery he's still available, to be quite honest. I've gathered from Roxy he never pulls when they're out on a night off. I'm sure the boy's got game, his success rate in honeypots, albeit he hasn't done very many, is an impressive 73%. Close to 85% for the Lake District missions alone, oddly enough. I supervised his training, for Christ's sake -"

"With your long-standing record of 90% success rate in honeypots?" Merlin finishes for him then starts tapping away at his clipboard. "Harry, were you aware, there've been huge strides in 3D-printing technology in the past five years. Some team is printing edible nano-raspberries, L'Oréal is printing actual skin to test cosmetics on, every day at Heathrow some American is caught trying to sneak a 3D-printed gun past security. The possibilities are endless really."

"You've caught me off-guard with that non sequitur, Merlin," Harry confesses, unsure of where the conversation is heading, "but perhaps I should be glad for the change in topic."

"My point is, Harry, that perhaps we should allocate funds to 3D-print you a set of HUGE FUCKING BALLS so that your success rate for seducing glaringly obviously enamored protégés will finally, for the love of god, be at 1 out of 1, or 100 fucking percent if my maths is correct."

Harry is rendered speechless, watches with mouth hanging open in disbelief as the bastard cunt (now his ex-friend, ex-confidante) turns and walks back to his office, leaving Harry rooted to the spot on the subway platform in front of the entrance to the pod waiting to blast him back to the shop. As soon as Merlin is swallowed up by the darkness whence he was forged, Harry whips out his secure iPhone.

"Siri, set up reminder for Guinevere to send out memo re: team-building exercise at UK HQ, date TBD. High stakes game of ultimate frisbee, agents vs handlers. Merlin's clipboard in lieu of actual frisbee. Agent or handler who successfully extracts said clipboard for use in game will be exempt from the agent pool for the next 3 honeypots involving targets over the age of 65."

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

"Sorry, I didn't get that."

 

 

Bloody buggering hell even Siri's on Merlin's side. They're probably dating.

 

 

 

_**Fin** _

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Lexus hoverboards are real](http://www.wired.com/2015/06/lexus-hoverboard-slide/) (as are all the other odd tech tidbits aside from Percy's hovering glasses), and the Lake District statistic comes from [this video interview with Taron](https://youtu.be/8c9K5Sfi5zA?t=68).
> 
> Harry's lame parkour attempt:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I was trying to think of the equivalent of Savile Row for the French and I came up with haute couture, there are only a handful of couturiers left, like with actual proper ateliers, so that's why French Kingsman are decked out in Dior and Chanel. Dior does have a suiting department I think.  
>    
> Planning on a short chapter about high tea at the round table on Friday but I'm quite excited for an upcoming tour of the estate library, which I'll post next week hopefully.
> 
> HMU on [tumblr](http://thorins-arkenstone.tumblr.com/) if you want. Thanks for reading!


	3. Flight of the Concorde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry acquires some fancy new (old) toys cuz Harry is a baller and don't you have anything better to do man seriously goddamn, nothing new at HQ no one is gettin any it's as dry as the Sahara desert, and a near-death experience involving posh French dessert. Just another high tea at UK HQ.
> 
> * In this fic Guinevere is kind of like Miss Moneypenny in James Bond verse, basically Harry's personal assistant who's also trained to kick serious ass because he/she is the last line of defense against threats to Arthur at the shop. My Guinevere for this fic is Lucas North, super sexy spy from the BBC series Spooks (MI-5 in the US), played by Richard Armitage. [Here's a picture in glorious HD](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/34100000/Lucas-North-lucas-north-34107403-2048-1365.jpg), you'll need it for a visual later in this chapter.

  
 

**_III. Flight of the Concorde_ **

 

 

"Roxelot!" Eggsy called out, lying on a bench scrolling through his phone with JB curled up on his stomach, "Memo from G-man. High tea at the round table, some special bloke from the New York branch come to visit."

The US is so big Kingsman has so-called 'regional branches' - Kingsman NY for the east coast, Kingsman LA for the west, and apparently Kingsman Fuck You for middle America. Eggsy thought he had seen something about a Kingsman NV, maybe he was mistaken and it was actually NY, except when he asked Merlin about it all he got was, "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Eggsy." Roxy had a eureka! moment when they discussed it, noting that the infamous Area 51 is in the US state of Nevada. 

"Kingsman NV more like Merlin's Zoo of Bald Extraterrestrial Babies, amirite Rox?" Eggsy had surmised.

Arthur rarely called for high tea at the round table when agents from outside the UK branch came for a visit. There were always international agents milling about UK HQ, using the training facilities during a layover or dropping off treats for Merlin - probably bribes of some sort. Days after the special visit Eggsy realized that Harry had set him up for a friend-date.

As usual, Harry was right on the money.

Eggsy and Javier bonded immediately over parallel life experiences. Javier was the first agent from NY HQ without an Ivy League education - "Yeah man, I'm from the school of hard knocks." He grew up in the projects in the Bronx, brilliant and bright, learned a bunch of languages just from hanging out with the kids in his neighborhood - English, Spanish, Italian, French Creole, Kru, Ibo, Yoruba - he was a polyglot even before he got to Kingsman. He'd hop a turnstile to take the subway into Manhattan, breakdance in front of the tourist crowds on Fifth Avenue and Columbus Circle for an upturned baseball cap's worth of loose change. The endorphin rush tapered off as soon as he got home, his single mother pleading and stealing his earnings saying she wouldn't survive the night without a hit. Javier knew she wasn't exaggerating.

His mother hung on until his 21st birthday. Dr. Phillips - Javier remembers him fondly - had been the one to break the news to Javier that his mother had finally overdosed. Dr. Phillips sat with Javier for hours, talking about everything and nothing - his mother's death, Javier's numerous "degrees" from [Khan Academy](https://www.khanacademy.org/), the Rangers failing to make the playoffs. By the time the two had parted ways, Javier had made a lasting impression on the world-weary emergency room doctor.

Dr. Phillips pulled out a Kingsman medal, given to him after the death of his older brother. He never called the number on the back of the medal; his brother died under very mysterious circumstances. Dr. Phillips lived a good, comfortable life, was a year away from retirement and never needed to call in a favor. Most days he forgot about the medal but kept it close in memory of the older brother who had died too young. He picked up the phone, dialed the number on the back, and uttered the code phrase. A few days later Dr. Phillips received a phone call in return and he asked the stranger at the other end of the line if he could transfer the favor to someone who needed it more, or if there was anything they could do to help out the young man directly. Before he knew it Javier was on his way to upstate New York to begin trials for the newly-vacated position in Kingsman North America.

A couple of years later, Javier - Agent [Livingston](http://www.ushistory.org/Declaration/Signers/index.htm) now - is one of only five field agents licensed to fly the Kingsman Concorde supersonic transatlantic jet. 

He had entertained the knights with an anecdote about how it almost didn't come to pass. Agent Washington (the US branch's answer to Merlin) refused to grant a pilot's license to an agent who didn't even know how to drive a fucking car. Like many born-and-bred New Yorkers, Javier never needed to drive anywhere so he never bothered to learn. He ran to the local driving school - Washington had refused to give beginner driving lessons using their fleet of tricked out cars - and rushed through the lessons.

"Yo, listen, when you learn to drive in Manhattan, the highway driving portion is along the FDR Drive. You ever drive down there, man? Let me tell you something, I'd rather try to land a plane on it than try to merge into the southbound lane during rush hour. Shit is nuts man, I'm telling you."

 

**+**

 

One of Harry's first pet projects as Arthur, in partnership with Viola Keating, codename Hancock, head of Kingsman US, was to restart the program for supersonic transatlantic flights. Harry had "acquired" a pair of of the old Aérospatiale-BAC jets after V-day (through unclaimed inheritance according to Harry and from eBay according to Merlin). In the beginning it was just a side project, Merlin & Co. tinkering to upgrade the jets - both Roxy and Eggsy were surprised to learn that commercial supersonic flights were in service for over a decade before they were even born up until 2003 - to be quieter and to lessen their impact on the environment. With agencies stretched thin all across the globe, the Concorde flights became an integral part in the logistics of moving large numbers of agents during the massive clean-up effort after V-day. Batches of Kingsmen would converge in New York from all over the US, Canada, Mexico, South America - and take the Concorde to London where they would then take trains planes and automobiles to wherever their next mission was in Europe, the Middle East, Africa - and vice versa, from London to NY, the much shorter 3-hour flight across the Atlantic limiting the effects of jet lag.

When the dust had settled the jets were grounded, only to be used in special circumstances authorized by both Arthur and Hancock, at least until the effects of sonic boom on the ozone were better understood. A group of Kingsman LA agents (unlike the "old money" of the east coast branch, the west coast branch was "new money" - Silicon Valley, PhDs from Stanford and MIT, recruits plucked from tech giants like Google and Apple) flew to New York - supersonic flights over populated areas are banned, for good reason - to study the jet parked in NY HQ and to begin work on its equivalent for supersonic trans-pacific flights for abbreviated flight times to Asia.

Eggsy's first flight on Kingsman Concorde had been a revelation. Agent Livingston hit the reheats and suddenly they were rocketing down the runway, then the jet's needle nose straightened and they began the steep ascent - not quite the straight-up vertical and speed of a rocket launch but close enough for Eggsy - "Fuuuuuck yeeeaaaaah" - drowned out by the sonic boom, then a mere 30 seconds later and they're above the weather, above the stratosphere, suddenly engulfed in the deep dark purple of fuckin  _space_  as the Concorde reached altitude and began cruising at Mach 2. 

Eggsy looked out and saw the curvature of the Earth. His throat closed up and tears welled in his eyes. The thought of where he was just two years ago (a pleb who would never have been able to afford a £4,000 one-way ticket on the Concorde) versus where he was today (still a pleb, but a pleb in space), it was overwhelming.

Cuz yeah, looking down on Earth from up here, he gets it Valentine, he really does, but he also gets how people like him are never gonna be hand-picked to survive an apocalypse. He and Javier were never gonna link arms and walk up the plank to whatever figurative Noah's Ark some crazy billionaire decided to build. They didn't want people like him or Javi, good-for-nothing scums of the earth, in the New Age.

(Unless it was a raffle type scheme, like that wicked Elon Musk Hyperloop bullet train in  _Snowpiercer_  - except he and Javi would be in the back of the train like Curtis and Edgar eating babies and Merlin would be in the front, in the engine room.) 

No one expected them to do anything with their lives and that was fine, whatever, nothing that had happened to them prior to Kingsman convinced themselves that they were capable of anything anyway. What grinds Eggsy's gears even more, was the thought that people like Harry and Merlin were far more deserving of spots on Valentine's hand written, un-hackable list, and yet useless lumps of flesh like Charlie Hesketh were given prime spots. Harry and Merlin would never've agreed to the implants, but still.

Only one.

It takes only one crazy fucker to wipe him and everyone he loves off the face of the earth. 

It took only one person to decide, within five minutes of meeting them, that they were worth helping, that they were capable of bigger and better things, like, I dunno, saving the fucking planet. Eggsy and Javi continue to fight long after V-day in defense of - his mum, Daisy, his mates from the estate, all those billions of people barely hanging on who don't have that one person to give them the push they need - all those people Valentine and his ilk deemed so unworthy.

Only one. Dr. Phillips for Javi and Harry Hart for Eggsy.

Needless to say, all of his selfies from his first Concorde flight were of him with red eyes, tear-stained cheeks and scrunched up face. So on the return flight back to London Eggsy mussed up his hair so that it was less Captain America in  _The First Avenger_ , more Captain America in  _The Winter Soldier_ , and he took twice as many selfies to make up for it.

  

**+**

 

But yeah, Javi is his best mate outside of the UK, and he misses him something fierce. He taught the knights flip cup and beer pong and they played a round of each (Roxy had won both) and the entire week following Javier's visit Eggsy had prefaced everyone's name with "Yo!"

"Penny for your thoughts, Eggsy." 

"Oh, hey Rox."

They received another memo for high tea at the shop, no special visitors today but currently there were more than four knights in between missions hanging about in HQ, a rare enough occurrence for Arthur to bring out the fancy tea cups and send Guinevere to queue up for whichever latest hotspot patisserie the Shoreditch hipster twats have been leaving four stars on yelp for.

"Was just thinking of phoning Javi," Eggsy responds, "You remember him? Taller but less adorable New York version of me? Thought we might catch up over hologram." 

Eggsy knows for sure that Roxy remembers him. Roxy has a bit of a crush on Javier. And by 'a bit,' he's talking the first page on her browser history after meeting Javier was a Google search results page for  _sex in a supersonic jet vs sex in regular aircraft_. Who could blame her really? In addition to everything else, the bloke was well fit - 6'3", half-Hispanic/half-black with that enviable olive skin tone, green eyes - proper green, not like Eggsy's ambiguous greeny-blue-grey. 

"Oh?" she says, feigning indifference.

Thing is, Roxy is aces at honeypots. Great intuition, knows when to back off and when to go for it. When it comes to meeting civilians on the fly outside of mission scope, without a mission brief and background info to guide her, she's a bit like a fish out of water. Then again, even after Merlin handed her a complete dossier on Agent Livingston, Roxy was still all blushes and nervous ponytail smoothing around him, so Eggsy thinks maybe it's got all to do with Javier and nothing to do with shyness around strangers.

But that was a whole 'nother issue. Right now they were at the round table, waiting for late-again-Arthur. In attendance were Galahad, Lancelot, Gawain, Lamorak, and Kay. Oh, and fucking Merlin blending into the wallpaper what the fuck, have a seat you wanker. The knights begin their idle chatter. Eggsy sits back and doesn't say much, he likes the soft murmur of everyone's posh accent, finds it soothing. He loves high tea at the shop.

Arthur finally arrives, followed closely by Guinevere, jacket doffed, sleeves rolled up neatly, gun holster on display -  _ugh, not today, Satan_ , Eggsy thinks - who begins to bustle around with the tea preparations. He prepares a cup for Dagonet down at the tailor shop and when he returns from delivering it it's with a tiered tray loaded with colorful pastries and mini-sandwiches in each hand. Arthur had waived his right to first pick but no one took it seriously and before anyone moves to help themselves Guinevere makes a selection from the tray and sets it before Arthur. 

Fuckin' Guinevere aka G-man to Eggsy cuz the only 3-syllable name starting with G that Eggsy is willing to say is Galahad. Eggsy hates him in that 'hate is closer to love than you think' kind of way. Especially when he leans in to pass on a private message to Arthur - Eggsy stares down the two of them, Arthur boxed in with one of G-man's muscled arms on the back of Arthur's chair and the other on the table, heads bent toward each other, G-man's already deep bass several octaves lower when hushed. Eggsy takes a deep breath, can't take his eyes off the pair of dark-haired, soft-spoken sex on legs threats to his personal health and safety, doesn't blink, grabs blindly for one of the fancy French pastries on the tea tray and stuffs it in his mouth before he can yell I'VE GOT TWO ORIFICES BOTH PRIMED AND READY AVAILABLE AT THE SAME TIME ASAP ANYTIME ANYWHERE 24/7 KEEP UR GLASSES ON -

Eggsy's eyes widen in pastry epiphany.

Eggsy admits to having a sweet tooth. He also admits to having a savory tooth. Honestly put anything edible and poison-free in front of his face and he'll scarf it down. His palate is a bit more refined now that he's joined Kingsman, but he's never had anything quite like what's in his mouth at the moment. The mystery orifice stuffer is at once crunchy, chewy, with some sort of creamy filling. The flavor is familiar but he can't quite place it. He looks over at the trays to see if there are any more - none, blast, then turns to Roxy across the table, patchy eyebrows lifted in silent WTF.

"Macaron," she supplies helpfully, "from Ladurée, originally based in Paris but they've got outposts in London and New York now as well."

She holds up a pink one - "Raspberry, my favorite," and breaks off a small pity piece for Eggsy. Judging by the crumbs on his Turnbull & Asser, Eggsy had eaten a green one, so pistachio.

"Pistache," he murmurs reverently.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eggsy sees Guinevere's careful selection for Arthur still on the serviette, untouched. There's a half sandwich, some other things who gives a fuck - and two light brown macarons. Eggsy looks up to find G-man's piercing blue eyes burning holes into Eggsy. Without breaking his gaze, Guinevere defensively moves the serviette closer to Arthur.

Eggsy softens his gaze and briefly throws up both hands in mock surrender, then laces his fingers together and leans back.

Then in a split second - G-man is fast but pickpocket Galahad is faster - Eggsy has both macarons stuffed in his mouth at awkward angles so they prop his mouth open and he can't really chew,  _fuck_.

Arthur's gaze hardens and there's a very long, very awkward silence which Eggsy refuses to break with an attempt at dislodging the macarons.

"Dismissed, Guinevere. Knights. Merlin."

Eggsy rises.

"Not you, Ga-la-had." The three syllables are said sharply, crisp and icy.

The knights follow Guinevere out of the dining room in single-file, Merlin bringing up the rear.

"Oh, Merlin," Arthur says in afterthought, "the walls are soundproof, are they not?"

Merlin shoots Eggsy a pitying glance. "Confirmed, Arthur," then dramatically pulls both doors closed with a bow as he exits the dining room.

 

**+**

 

Another very long, very awkward silence. The roof of Eggsy's mouth is beginning to hurt and spittle is forming at the corners of his mouth. 

He turns to Harry, eyes wide open, mouth wide open.

 

 

Then Harry laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

It's the oddest fucking thing coming from Harry, a laugh like that shouldn't be possible from a gentleman as posh as him.  It's so weird to listen to, so unfamiliar - loud and booming and so filled with unabashed mirth it's probably why he asked if the room was soundproof.

Tears are forming in Harry's eyes and he's slapping one hand on his thigh while clutching his stomach with the other.

"Y-y-our f-face, like a s-s-squir-rel," he clutches weakly at his iPhone to snap a picture but his hands are shaking so it comes out with Eggsy looking like Poltergeist material.

Finally Eggsy deflates, munches down on the macarons now that they've disintegrated a bit and softened. The filling spills out from the corners of his mouth.

Harry stops laughing and looks more serious now, but still fond. He reaches out to cup Eggsy's chin and wipes off some of the  _caramel à la fleur de sel_ with his thumb and sucks at it.

 

 

"My favorite flavor. My favorite knight."

 

 

_**Fin** _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, no spanking/caning guys, that's probably what you were expecting, sorry you got fluff squared instead.
> 
> Yup, salted caramel is my favorite flavor.
> 
> Up next, a tour of the estate library. Maybe I'll put Harry in a plush jumper or something, sexy librarian type n all that jazz.
> 
> Also have some Guinevere decked out in armor, totally relevant to our interests:
> 
>  


	4. Wise Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galahad and Percival train for an upcoming re-enactment of The Bourne Legacy, Harry has eclectic taste in poetry, Roxy gets things done as per usual, Eggsy pours his heart out while Merlin threatens to paralyze it.
> 
> * Thought I would post one long chapter instead of two shorter separate ones. And this one is loooong, also very heavy on the dialogue. I know the previous chapters seemed standalone, a bit disjointed but there was a purpose to them and hopefully it'll all be clear by the end of this chapter.

 

_**IV. Poetry and Tequila, Unrelated**_

 

Eggsy is taking a detour through St. James's Park on his way to the shop on Savile Row, umbrella in hand.

He and Percival aren't expected at HQ until after noon, the final leg of their grueling three day training session lasting well past midnight earlier that day. The two agents are off to Manila in a week ("Oi, Merlin - that trans-pacific Kingsman Concorde ready yet?") to assassinate the mastermind behind a scheme to install a new puppet regime, led by an egomaniac with a Napoleon complex bigger than the entire country, hell-bent on dictatorship and re-enacting Marcos-era martial law. It's flagged as a no-fail mission so Galahad is going as backup to Percival. With Percival as Sniper 1, Eggsy doubts he'll ever need to take a shot but they undergo the same level of training anyway.

American branch had provided them with a pair of Remington CSRs, lightweight, modular sniper rifles, relatively new to the market. American Agent Sam Adams "like the lager" (US branch took code names from the signers of the Declaration of Independence and there were two Adamses) flew to London to deliver the rifles and oversee the accelerated training session. 

Merlin had given the rifles his stamp of approval with a "Nuh-uh, this, is _mine_ " glassy-eyed stare.

When dismantled, the largest piece was about 42 cm long, so that the entire rifle, including stand, barrel, and silencer, could fit in something much smaller and less conspicuous than the typical rifle briefcase. Engineering had come up with a clever hinged case design with three sections of high durometer foam with precise, water jet-cut pockets for each component of the rifle. The case opened up like a pamphlet, and when collapsed down for storage could fit inside a rucksack only slightly larger than a standard 3-day-assault pack. With strategic padding around the boxy case, the rucksacks looked very similar to the type often carried by university-age globetrotters. Dress code portion of the mission dossier indicated Kingsman-issued informal attire ("None of that garish gold plaque abominations, please, Galahad, I don't care if Jeremy Scott himself sews one out of Kevlar.")

 

_Hide, engage target, kill, exfiltrate._

Their mantra for three days straight, starting each day well before the sun rose and ending several hours after the sun set. Agent Sam Adams put Galahad and Percival through their paces until they established a satisfactory rhythm of unpacking and packing the rifles and could dismantle and re-assemble the rifles in under a minute. Target practice was the easiest portion of the training session for both agents - Percival's record spoke for itself and Galahad got top marks during Kingsman training. The rifle weighed just under 4 kg, not even a tenth of the weight of some of the packs Eggsy carried during Marines training, but after 3 days of running around the trainee obstacle course with the fully loaded rucksacks, he felt another trip to the spa was in order.

 

**+**

 

No mission scheduled today, just a bit of research, so Eggsy's dressed casually - "Galahad casual" as opposed to chav Eggsy. Black tailored trousers, a heather grey cashmere waffle henley (he balked at the price but Roxy had convinced him, rambling on about cost per wear, quality over quantity, their Kingsman dry cleaning discount, etc; it quickly became one of his favorites) over a white t-shirt, and a bulletproof sportcoat.

Oxfords not brogues of course, he still gets a kick out of those. Not literally at the moment, wouldn't want to incapacitate any unsuspecting pigeons with a neurotoxic toe blade.

Things are… OK… with Harry after the incident at high tea, about a month ago now, which everyone still referred to as the "macaron mishap." It was as if Harry had no interest in making progress beyond that one tender moment; whether or not his unflattering, very unsexy macaron stuffed squirrel-face had anything to do with it Eggsy'd rather not think about. He'd kill for a chance to replace that particular image in Harry's memory bank with the much sexier one of him stuffing something else of Harry's in his mouth. He felt a bit like he'd taken one step forward and two steps back with the whole incident.

Dagonet pulls Eggsy aside on his way to Fitting Room 1 and, sotto voce as there were quite a few customers in the shop,

"Arthur would like to see you in his office before you head over to HQ, please, Galahad."

Eggsy thanks Dagonet and frowns. He hasn't even had enough time to get into trouble yet.

 

**+**

 

Eggsy arrives in time to see Guinevere come out of Harry's office and close the door behind him. As soon as he catches sight of Eggsy he plants his feet shoulder-width apart in front of the door and crosses his arms across his chest.

Bloody hell does Kingsman purposely hire 6-foot-plus tall wankers just to look down on Eggsy?

"You know, G-man," because Eggsy's a gentleman now, "we were never formally introduced. I don't even know your real name."

"It's Richard," the man says, "but everyone calls me Dick."

Of course. Of fuckin course. Well, Eggsy ain't gonna go around calling him Dick, that's for sure. G-man it is. 

"Pleasure to meet you. May I pass?"

"You know what to do, Galahad."

Eggsy gives a long-suffering sigh and steps forward, finds the 0.1% of door space not currently blocked by Guinevere's hulking frame, and knocks politely. "Arthur, it's Galahad. May I come in?" Guinevere finally moves away from the door.

Eggsy steps into Harry's office and almost collides with Merlin who's on his way out.

"The fuck is wrong with G-man? Nearly had to break the door down just to ge'in," Eggsy complains, "He needs to pull the rod out 'is arse."

"Does he, now?" Merlin says dreamily, "I was rather hoping he'd like to have something of mine shoved up it."

 

**+**

 

"Dagonet said you wanted to see me, Harry?" 

"Yes, Eggsy. You haven't got any pressing plans in the next hour or so, have you?" Harry rises from his chair and reaches for his jacket. 

"Another spa day, Harry? I'll be honest that sounds fucking amazing right now."

"Alas, no, Eggsy, but the day is young. Oh, but you're still in for a treat." Harry gives his shirt cuffs a final tug, "Will you accompany me to the library?"

"Yeah, alright."

 

**+**

 

They exit the subway and walk outside and around the mansion to get to the library, "Much quicker than getting lost in the maze of hallways," Harry explains.

"So, Harry, what's in the library?"

"Books, Eggsy."

"No fucking shit, Sherlock." Christ, what a prick.

Harry smirks. They walk in comfortable silence for a moment.

"Eggsy, did you ever get the chance to study Latin poetry?"

"Nah, guv, but I did ace the course on 'how not to get your arse handed to you at the council estate'," Eggsy replies, "Lesson one: don't study Latin. Lesson two: don't study poetry."

Harry sighs. "It is a shame, and I hate to say it, but I do think Mandarin and Russian take precedence over languages like Latin, in our line of work. In any case, I received word that the library's obtained a book of Catullus poems, the ones rarely praised, because of the tone, you understand."

Eggsy doesn't, but nods anyway and braces himself for a lecture about a fucking dead language.

"And not a word about how I should just Google everything, Eggsy. Poetry should not be read off a backlit screen. Of course the best way to experience it is to have someone recite it to you, provided they give proper cadence and attention to pentameter."

"Lemme guess," Eggsy says, exasperated but fond, "another thing you're an expert on, Harry?"

They're only a few steps away from the outdoor entrance to the library, but Harry stops and turns to face Eggsy. He begins to recite, whiskey-colored eyes darkening, never straying from Eggsy's greeny-blue, voice low and soft. He draws out the syllables, speaking slowly, consonants sharp, the short stanza lilting and hypnotic.

 

_"Paedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,_  
__A_ ureli pathice et cinaede Furi,_  
_qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,_  
_quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum._  
_Nam castum esse decet pium poetam_  
_ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est,_  
_qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,_  
_si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici_  
_et quod pruriat_  
_incitare possunt,_  
_non dico pueris, sed his pilosis,_  
_qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos._  
_Vos quod milia multa basiorum_  
_legistis, male me marem putatis?_  
_Paedicabo ego vos et irrumabo."_  
                          _[[Oh, Harry, seriously tho?]](https://36.media.tumblr.com/14c10b7501aa5cc5acabb64120d3cfd8/tumblr_nr4hxwbnzd1r4pwt8o1_1280.png)_

 

"That was lovely, Harry, really beautiful," Eggsy says breathlessly despite his lack of comprehension.

Harry gives him a smug smile. 

  

**+**

  

Before Eggsy gets the chance to ask Harry for the name of the poem so that he can Google it in his spare time, backlit screen be damned, they catch sight of Roxy walking out of the library. Eggsy runs toward her and hugs her off the ground. 

Roxy is slightly tanned, hair lightened naturally by the sun. She'd been on a deep cover mission for almost a month, and the two friends hadn't sent so much as a single Snapchat to each other the entire time.

Harry catches up with them. "Lancelot, you're looking very well. How was Barbados?"

Roxy releases herself from Eggsy's hug. "Thank you Arthur. Mission went off without a hitch. Well, nothing I couldn't handle anyway. We ended a day early, three days ago in fact."

"An' you've just been lyin' on the beach for two days sipping drinks with umbrellas in 'em?" Eggsy teases, a bit jealous that Roxy gets Barbados and he gets stealth assassinations. Then again Eggsy did blow up literal heads of state, which was the reason for all the anarchy in the first place, so fair's fair.

Roxy pointedly ignores Harry's knowing smile. "Eggsy," she says, eyes sparkling, "Did you know, when the original Concorde was still in service, aside from London to New York, Paris to Washington, D.C., do you know what the other route was?"

Eggsy shakes his head.

Roxy pauses for effect before continuing, "London to Barbados."

Realization dawns on Eggsy's face. " _GET IN_ , Rox!! Mile high club then are we? Or should I say, 12-mile-high club?" 

Roxy rolls her eyes, "Agent Livingston was piloting the jet, Eggsy."

"That just means his co-pilot weren't a good enough wingman, Rox," and gives her a wink. "'ang on Harry, you and Agent Hancock greenlit use of Kingsman Concorde so Rox and Javi could go on a fucking date? Inappropriate use of resources, innit, Arthur?"

"We had a large team down in Barbados for the mission, Eggsy, not just field agents. Specialty teams - finance and trade experts, attorneys and legal, undercover private security for all those billionaires - the jet was at capacity, completely justified, I assure you," Harry says defensively. "Perhaps two days of grounding the jet 'for unforeseen repairs' may have been a tad excessive though. Consider it an early honeymoon, courtesy of Kingsman, Lancelot?" 

Roxy rolls her eyes. "Hardly, we've only just begun dating."

Right on cue, Eggsy's phone chimes with a message from Javier. "Well well well, Miss Morton, seems you've left quite an impression on a one Agent Livingston."

"What did he say?!" She makes grabby hands at his phone.

"I'll tell you at dinner luv. Chinese, place down the road from yours?"

"Perfect. See you later then, Eggsy," and gives him another hug, "Have a good afternoon, Arthur."

"I want all the filthy details, Rox, all of it!" Eggsy yells after her as she practically skips down the hallway, ponytail swinging.

"I doubt that, Eggsy!" she calls back.

Fuckin great. His two mates were shaggin' in space and Eggsy was losin' his mind over a dead language.

 

**+**

 

Harry introduces Eggsy to a very tall (Eggsy's getting real tired of this, he is) very regal-looking gentleman, about 15 years Harry's senior. Eggsy thinks he bears a striking resemblance to that one bloke on _Game of Thrones_ , the one murdered in the toilet by his midget son.

"Charles, it's been too long," Harry says, taking Charles' outstretched hand into both of his. "May I have the pleasure of introducing our newest Galahad? Also goes by Eggsy, to avoid confusion."

_Avoid confusion? Too late for me,_ Eggsy thinks as he shakes the man's hand.

"Mr. Charles Dance is a former agent, Eggsy, long since retired, occasional keeper of secrets here at the library."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Galahad," Charles says with a gleam in his eye. He leans in, "I was Galahad once too, before Harry was."

Eggsy's eyes go big and round, his grin the widest Harry's seen since that first time he took Eggsy to Fitting Room 3,

"Three Galahads?! Mate, we have got to take a selfie!"

Charles takes several pictures of the three of them with Eggsy's phone because he's got the longest arms. Eggsy is too excited to care that Charles and Harry have to slouch down a bit to get Eggsy in the frame.

 

**+**

 

"Forgive me if I'm starin', sir," Eggsy says, eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Charles, "it's not every day I get to spend time with two former Galahads."

"You're right about that, Eggsy," says Charles, handing out the teacups and biscuits. "Usually when a successor is named the previous agent's been long gone and buried. It's probably why Kingsman's been able to hang onto its fortune for so long," he jokes, "never any pensions to pay out! But to be in the presence of two Galahads, especially two of such caliber - I'm talking about you, Eggsy, you saved the world - this is a real treat."

Harry sips his tea quietly. They're out on the terrace and he's watching teams of off-duty handlers play a game of ultimate frisbee. He had been looking forward to this meeting between Charles and Eggsy and was content to sit back and let the two Galahads talk.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir," Eggsy says cautiously, "What made you retire from field work?"

"Believe it or not, Eggsy, it was a diplomatic mission. Didn't even have a gun in my hand. So many clues in front of me but I failed to put them together in time. I was so naive, to think that this madman took our negotiations seriously, confident that we would resolve things in the end. All the while he was just biding time, creating a distraction. By the time I realized what he was up to it was too late to put a team together to stop him. An entire tribe of innocent people annihilated, women raped and left to bleed out in the streets, children taken and never found. Kingsman could have stopped him, easily, if I had just seen what was right in front of me.

I continued on for a year after that, then I voluntarily withdrew from field work.

I left for the California coast, helped Kingsman LA set up shop, so to speak. Even went to medical school in California and returned to the area with Médecins Sans Frontières, hoping to make up for some of my mistakes. Been back in London for 3 years now, still a Kingsman. We take care of our own, Eggsy, until death."

The three Galahads fall silent, reflective.

"When you're doing your balance sheet, Eggsy, for your work as Galahad," Charles resumes, "You will find that the scales will always tip in favor of the good if you're doing your job right. But sometimes it's the ones you couldn't save that will haunt you the most."

Eggsy stares down at his hands and confesses something he's never admitted to his fearless peers - "I feel that way sometimes too, sir, about V-day."

"Nothing to be ashamed of, Eggsy," Charles comforts him, "and may I say you've more than lived up to the Galahad name in the short time you've had the role. I hope you've been taking advantage of Kingsman's psychiatrists. It's their job to make sure agents' mental health is up to par with their physical."

"Yes sir, been to a few sessions," Eggsy admits, "Still a bit weird for me, the whole therapy thing. Not exactly how we handle things back in my old neighborhood - we'd rather punch something or beat someone up or drink one too many pints than talk about feelings." 

"Well, you know, Eggsy," Charles says, "I'm not sure if you've been following Wimbledon, but it's the perfect analogy. You can have two equally-matched tennis players in terms of power, skill, and footwork, but it is always the one who is strongest - mentally - at that moment who will end up lifting the trophy. Let's be honest, it probably won't be a British athlete, but we live in hope."

Charles smiles at Eggsy and continues,  "You cannot live up to your full potential unless you're sound in mind as well as in body. And some of the things you see as a Knight, you'll need the occasional therapy. Harry and I expect you to still be Galahad long after he and I are buried six feet under, so please, take care of your head, Eggsy."

"Tell that to this one," Eggsy says, cocking his head in Harry's direction.

The conversation turns to lighter topics, like Charles' specialty - hand-to-hand combat, just like Harry and Eggsy, and his beverage of choice - tequila, ("I spent a great deal of time surfing in Mexico while I was a med student") which Harry makes a face at.

Charles excuses himself for a few minutes then returns with a bottle of Patrón and three shot glasses.

 

_"TO GALAHAD!"_

 

**+**

 

"Thank you Harry," says Eggsy. "Today's been amazing."

"Yes it has, Eggsy, as always, in your company. Are you heading down to the firing range? How's the new Remington?"

"Three days training with that sucker, guv, I could put 'er together in my sleep," Eggsy replies, but it's not an empty boast. "Actually I think I'll stay here in the library for a bit, do some research."

He walks Harry back inside the mansion then heads over to where Charles is, sitting by the fireplace trading stories with younger knights.

"Sorry to interrupt, Charles, know any good Intro to Latin texts?"

 

 

\------------------

 

 

_**V. Merlin's Garden of Good and Evil (Mostly Evil)** _

 

 

"Oh dear," Merlin mutters to himself, "that is not good. Not good,  _at all_."

He nudges the offending box planter with his foot. He could try and lift it himself, but with no shortage of hale and hearty young things about the estate... he checks his clipboard for nearby heat signatures.

He taps his glasses. "Any agents available to provide immediate assistance in the garden, non life-threatening situation?"

A beat, then Eggsy, "I'm at the library, Merlin, I can be there in 3 minutes."

"Thank you, Galahad."

 

**+**

 

"Ah, Eggsy. We need to move this planter out of the herb garden and into the nursery, if you would."

"Sure thing, guv." Eggsy takes a closer look at the plant before bending down to pick up the heavy planter. "Parsley? You cookin dinner for me, Merlin?"

"Common, if potentially fatal mistake, Eggsy," Merlin continues mildly, " _O. crocata_ , also known as hemlock water dropwort. Will almost certainly cause death if ingested in large enough quantity, after a few agonizing hours of convulsions, paralyzing speech, etcetera etcetera…" 

Eggsy almost drops the planter. "Have you gone mental, guv? An' you've go'it sitting out in there in the herb garden, right next to the fucking parsley?!"

"Not for long, Eggsy, if you do as I requested."

"You could have gotten someone killed, Merlin! Harry's got a personal chef at HQ, what the fuck were you thinking?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Eggsy," Merlin says, a bit taken aback by his vehemence, "Kitchen gardens are completely separate from this one. This is for research and development, and ornamental purposes as well, I would hope," Merlin is very proud of his garden, "and Arthur's staff shop at local markets in city proper, Harry's tastes are a bit too exotic for a simple back garden."

Eggsy looks somewhat placated. He sets the planter down in a far corner. 

Eggsy likes the greenhouse, a traditional victorian, though he hasn't spent much time in it. If left untended he imagines it's what Miss Havisham's from _Great Expectations_ garden would look like.

He stops by a plant in the marshy section of the nursery and takes one of the small delicate white flowers between his index and middle fingers. 

"Pretty. Shall I pick a few for Daisy?"

"I wouldn't recommend it, Eggsy. _Cerbera odollum_ , produces a toxin that paralyzes the heart, fatal. If you need to poison someone and leave little trace, though..."

"Fuckin hell, Merlin!" Eggsy stuffs his hands in his sportcoat, afraid to touch anything else, as he walks along the nursery, the only noise now the chirp of crickets.

 

"Is everything alright, lad?"

Eggsy sighs. "Just... Harry," he says glumly.

"Ah. I suspected as much."

Another chorus of crickets.

 

"Eggsy, what do you want, from Harry? Is it a Knight in Shining Armor type of thing?"

"Well," Eggsy begins after some deliberation, "I mean, besides the obvious, the man's well fit 'n all, yeah, I guess there's a bit of that of course, I'll always be grateful to him, although I like to think I got Galahad on my own merit with the whole saving the world bit. 'N maybe that should be the end of it, show him I'm thankful, do good at my job, but it's not enough -" Eggsy trails off, trying to piece his thoughts together.

"I want it all, Merlin, all of it, with him. I want to make him laugh like he did when I went and stuffed my mug with those macarons -"

"That's all he did? Laugh?" Merlin looks disappointed. "Sorry, lad, continue."

"I want to have dinner, have 'im tell me every story behind those news clippings, find out about the ten percent of honeypots he failed, like seriously guv, who in their right mind -"

"Four percent."

"Wot?"

"Harry's success rate in honeypots is actually 96%, he didn't keep track of things so closely. I thought I'd take his ego down a few notches. It's big enough already."

"Not helping the confidence, Merlin."

"Sorry, lad."

"It's just -"

Eggsy pauses, and Merlin knows not to interrupt.

" 'I'll sort it out when I get back,' that's what he said, before he... before he left for Kentucky. And everything he's done since then, that's exactly it, yeah? He's done exactly that, and more. God, I am making zero sense right now, sorry, guv."

"It's alright, Eggsy. Go on."

"Like that day, at the spa - he showed me, that maybe I deserve some good things in life, give myself a pat - a massage, what have you - a pat on the back now and then for a job well done, yeah? And even if - even if I never went to some posh boarding school or famous uni or nothin, I'm just as Kingsman as the rest of 'em, I've even got skills no one else has, that I could maybe pass on - he didn't even blink an eye or nothin when I told him I was thinkin of trainin a couple of agents in freerunning, like it was no surprise, like I could do it, no big deal. Then he brought Javi in for tea, and he knew we'd get along, like all the shite that happened to me, someone across the pond was going through it too and surviving, you know, that whole time I wasn't alone, it's just that we hadn't known each other then. And just now, at the library, I met Charles, he was Galahad before Harry. It was amazing, Merlin, I'll show you selfies, we had tea and tequila and talked only twenty minutes but god he taught me so much."

Eggsy feels a lump in his throat, "It's as if he - Harry - crawled his way to hell and back just to make sure that I - that I knew my worth. He came back for me, Merlin, I just know he did."

Merlin reaches out and wraps an arm around Eggsy's shoulders.

"Also he's fit as fuck -"

"You mentioned that already."

"And I give fuck all about the age thing."

"Well, Eggsy, to quote a fantastic television series which I marathoned on Netflix recently -"

" 'ang on, guv - I know for a fact you ain't got time to marathon anything."

"Eggsy," Merlin says vaguely, "remember back when we had a bit of downtime, and Harry wanted me to complete your and Roxy's training modules, on psychological torture, and we put the both of you in solitary confinement? Well, Roxy and I -"

"You were watching Netflix the entire fucking time?!"

"In our defense, we actually did think it would be torture, we didn't expect to enjoy it quite so much," Merlin starts humming the theme song -

_♪ Unbreakable! They alive, dammit, it's a miracle! ♪_

"Merlin, you fucking. piece. of shite!" Eggsy is livid, "I was in solitary for se-ve-n-ty-two hours. Do you know what that's like? To be inside my head, with all the shite I put up with, what I did to all those people on V-day? And all that time you were with Roxy marathoning a fucking Netflix show?!"

"You couldn't shoot the dog, Eggsy."

"Fuck off!"

"As I was trying to say," Merlin continues, all kidding aside, "the age thing - frankly I would be slightly worried if Harry had no concerns over your age gap at all. But you shortened your expected life span when you accepted the Galahad role, Eggsy. Kingsman is a bit more  _carpe diem_ than your regular nine-to-five. You saw how old Chester King was compared to the knights at the round table. Harry, as Arthur, might even outlive you."

"I wouldn't mind that," Eggsy says, almost too softly for Merlin to hear, "that's the thing though, innit? He's got this wealth of experience to draw from, to figure out what I want, what I need before I even know I need it. I ain't got that, not yet anyway. And the only way I can show him how much he means to me - how he means everything to me -" 

Eggsy trails off, the moment of truth sapping all his energy, "I can only do that… if I was his, and he was mine."

 

Another chorus of crickets.

 

"Eggsy, Harry loves you, and you love Harry, but he's not going to make the first move. It's all up to you. He's putting the ball in your court, because in this scenario, he's the predator," Merlin picks up a potted plant, a beautiful _Sarracenia leucophylla_ , blood red veins stark against dazzling white. Merlin oh-so-gently strokes Eggsy's cheeks with the carnivorous pitcher plant in lewd approximation of what Harry would like to do to Eggsy, "and you, Eggsy, are the prey."

 

**+**

 

On their way out Eggsy catches sight of something familiar, a bright light, faint buzzing noise.

"Merlin. MER. LIN. Is that -"

"No, Eggsy."

"Is that -"

"For research and development only, Eggsy, no."

" _IS THAT POT?!"_

 

 

 

_**Fin**_  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Charles Dance, aka Tywin Lannister. He's like 6'3", poor Eggsy. Didn't even bother with a fake name on that one.
> 
> Also, [here's the bit Merlin was trying to quote from UKS](http://sandandglass.tumblr.com/post/113242358872).
> 
> Some of you may have noticed the rating change. Yup, I'm going for it! First smut! Colin Firth what have you done to me. I should have the last chapter up tomorrow or Thursday, but I'm taking time to edit the smut through the weekend. I've got the witty banter down, I just need to work on the sexy times, aka the hard part (pun intended). 
> 
> As always, thanks for your comments, they make my day, I'll be back on [my tumblr](http://thorins-arkenstone.tumblr.com/) as soon as I catch up with Hannibal. Probably not anytime soon since this fic has taken over my life.


	5. Manners Maketh Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha ha ha. This was supposed to be short - just the scene in Arthur's office, but then I decided I needed some domestic!HartWin before the fic was over so here we are with this monstrosity of a chapter.
> 
> Our silly little tale ends here, payoff chapter is next ;)

 

 

_**VI. Manners Maketh Man** _

 

The entire contents of Eggsy's wardrobe are piled high in the middle of his bedroom.

On top of that pile lies Eggsy, wearing nothing but black briefs and a pair of mismatched striped socks.

"Rox, I got nothin to wear tomorrow."

He had taken a short nap as soon as he got home from HQ in the afternoon, knackered from another early morning training session for the 'Thrilla in Manila', for which he's set to leave the day after tomorrow. He woke up from his nap and spent the next hour ransacking his closet for the perfect outfit with which to ask Harry Hart out to dinner, profess his undying love, and if he's being totally honest, get Harry to fuck his brains out. 

"What about the suit Harry made for you?"

"That was my 'save the world' suit, Rox, it's been retired, put in a museum."

"And which museum would that be, Eggsy?"

"Eggsy Unwin Hall of Fame." 

"Mmm yeah, alright. What else is in it?"

"Framed picture of the three Galahads 'course, first grenade I nicked from the armory, Sun headlines from my missions -"

"Sounds more like a shrine to Harry Hart to me."

"Rox," Eggsy says, switching the phone to his other hand, "are you gonna help me or what?"

"Eggsy, you haven't even secured a first date yet. I'm sure he'll say yes, all you have to do is ask. Just go to work tomorrow, dressed as you normally would - "

"'ang on Rox," Eggsy says and sits up, "doesn't Mr. Porter have same day delivery in London?"

"Goodness Eggsy, no need to go crazy. Just - no Adidas - and you'll be fine."

"But I want to look good, like, really fucking good."

"Eggsy, save the stress for your first date -"

"So good he'll bend me over his desk after accepting my dinner invitation."

"Eggsy I'm hanging up."

Eggsy sighs. "I gotta go anyway, Rox, see mum and Daisy off. You got a mission tonight, yeah?"

"Yes, leaving in ten minutes. Short one though, light recon. Should be done by tomorrow morning."

"I'd wish you luck but you never need it. Ta, Rox."

"See you tomorrow, Eggsy. You should relax, you're overthinking this."

He hangs up and plugs his phone in to charge.

His mum knocks on his door a few seconds later. "Daisy and I are off with JB, luv, come say goodbye."

"Let me put a shirt on, ma," he calls out and picks one off the floor.

"I've seen you with a lot less on, Eggsy."

But she hasn't seen his battle wounds, scars and bruises which could no longer, thank goodness, be blamed on Dean.

He doesn't bother with trousers, he's never been stabbed in the thigh or had his kneecaps blown off, touch wood, but he does pick up his glasses off the induction charger, out of habit more than anything else. He doesn't want to miss any emergencies.

"C'mon, JB." The pug jumps off his bed and follows Eggsy out his bedroom door.

Eggsy takes his sister from his mum and carries her downstairs. "Be a good girl for mum, yeah? Just like you always are. You've got JB to take care 'a you til big brother gets back from Mani - err - Hong Kong, alright? D'ya know where that is, baby girl? Hong Kong? Far, far away."

Daisy reaches for his glasses - she loves them. "Eggthy 'way? Ong Ong!"

"Oi, Daisy," he says, "how many times do I have to tell ya? These ain't a toy, you know. A mean old bald man will come take all your toys away if anything happens to 'em." She giggles and leaves his glasses hanging halfway down his face.

He pauses to pick up JB, who's waiting at the top of the stairwell to be carried down.

"You got everyfin, ma? JB's toys 'n all?"

"Yes luv," his mum replies, "don't forget to take the rubbish out tonight please Eggsy, they won't be back for another pickup before you leave."

They hear a car horn.

"Oh, that must be Sandra. Be good, Eggsy. You can have some friends 'round before you leave for your trip, yeah? Maybe Roxy?" She asks hopefully.

Eggsy rolls his eyes, "Don't think she's willing to detach herself from her supermodel boyfriend at the moment."

His mother sighs, "Eggsy, you've got to act fast, especially with the good ones before they get snapped up by someone else. Now give us a kiss," she leans in then immediately pulls back -"Goodness, Eggsy, that shirt needs a wash."

Eggsy sets his sister and JB down outside the door and bends down to Daisy's height. "JB, take good care of Daisy and mum, ok?"

"Boof!"

"Good dog." He gives JB a scratch and watches the two of them waddle over to Sandra's car.

He leans against the door frame and waves at them until the car's out of sight. 

That had worked out well. His mum's friend Sandra had proposed a long weekend by the coast - she owned a small cottage as part of her divorce settlement - and they agreed to take JB while Eggsy was in Asia "meeting with Hong Kong clientele," which in truth was, "blowing a would-be dictator's puppet master's brains out for the sake of stability in the Pacific Islands."

Eggsy shuts the door and triple-bolts it. He sniffs at his shirt - "ew, rank!" - then strips it off and shucks it in the washer on his way to the kitchen.

He fills the rubbish bin and drags it out the back door, through the small yard and leaves it out for collection.

He turns back toward the house and realizes he's just locked himself out.

 

 

_"Fuck me."_

 

**+**

 

_Please not Merlin, please not Merlin, please not Merlin._  Eggsy waits for someone from HQ to respond to the distress call from his glasses, thank fuck he had them on.

"Galahad, is everything alright?" a familar Scottish burr.

_Fuck. Did the man ever sleep?_   "Merlin I'm fine, just um, locked myself out me house, could you let me in?"

"Oh for goodness sake, Eggsy."

"I'm sorry! Have a lot on my mind."

"Can't you call your mother? Or Roxy? She has your spare keys, has she not? Oh never mind, she's just left for that night recon."

"Mum's on her way to the coast, probably on the motorway by now, phone's locked in the house, 's why I'm using the glasses. Can't you just let me in? Remote access or something?"

"No, Eggsy, we keep spare keys at HQ and monitor security, but we can't remotely open doors to our agents' homes. It's not something we're working on either, too many things can go wrong. Yours are mechanical locks, un-pickable at your request, you tested them yourself."

"Shit."

"May I also remind you that you asked me to 'spare no expense' to make sure no one could get in through the windows to get to Daisy. You won't be able to force yourself in without major damage to your home, resulting in major expense."

"Fuck." Even with Dean locked up it hadn't been difficult to convince his mother to add all the extra security features.

"Is Harry home?" Eggsy was woefully under-dressed for a stroll through the neighborhood but Harry's is the closest to his house.

"Harry's at Arthur's house, a dinner party, you know, one of those tedious but necessary affairs."

As Arthur, one of Harry's least favorite responsibilities was keeping tabs on the rich and powerful - politicians, bank chiefs, business moguls, etc. Kingsman owns a townhouse in fashionable Kensington and once in a while they open its doors for an intimate dinner party hosted by Harry.

Harry had started out small - mostly acquaintances from Eton, university, and RAMC, contacts through MI5. Eventually Harry's guest list expanded to MPs and cabinet members, Fortune 500 CEOs, foreign billionaires looking to ingratiate themselves in London society among people of Harry's pedigree. Harry is so charming when he wants to be Merlin wouldn't be surprised if the prime minister showed up one day. Chester King had done the same (using a different Kingsman property) which explained how he got into contact with the likes of Richmond Valentine, but unlike Harry, Chester King looked forward to those dinner engagements.

Kingsman takes every precaution to ensure that no connection would be made between Harry and "Arthur", and by extension, Kingsman. Harry would do away with the dinners entirely except they were rather effective; his first two dinners alone he managed to uncover a Ponzi scheme, had arranged to arrest an MP on a lesser charge before he could sell damning information to the press, and stopped the illicit transfer of atomic weapons cache when a magnate had accidentally let slip that he would be accompanying his nuclear engineer wife on a trip to Pelindaba, South Africa. Even if there were no immediate crises averted, it was a good idea to keep a finger on the pulse of the elite. 

Merlin sighs. "Stay on the line, Eggsy, I'll see what I can do."

Minutes later Harry's voice comes in through comms.  _Shit_. 

"Eggsy, are you alright? Merlin tells me you've locked yourself out. I haven't got much time, I have to return to my dinner guests, but you've got a few options. I have the cab here, I can send it over to take you to the shop and you can pick up a key at HQ or stay there overnight. Or you can wait until one of the handlers is available to drive over and bring you a key, but it could be a very long wait."

Harry continues after getting no response from Eggsy, "Or, I can send the cab to fetch you and bring you here. Just take the service entrance to avoid the party. You can stay in the kitchen, have a bite to eat, you're more than welcome to spend the night here and we can head to the shop together tomorrow morning."

Eggsy worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "Don't suppose I could go to your house, pick the lock and let myself in?" Eggsy belatedly realizes he hasn't got anything he could even use to pick a lock. 

Merlin joins in, "No, Eggsy, when Harry became Arthur we installed biometric doorknobs, you won't be able to get in without him."

Eggsy sighs. He's already made a decision. It seems given a choice, no matter what it involves, he'd always rather be with Harry.

"Harry," Eggsy says finally, "I am so so sorry about this. I'll come over to Arthur's house, so thank you for that, it's just, there's this small matter of... I haven't got any clothes on."

The comms are silent. Eggsy checks to make sure his signal is still on.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, I've got briefs on, at least, and socks."

"Socks?"

"My feet get cold."

Harry laughs. "Oh, Eggsy, my dear boy. Much as I'd rather listen to your fascinating tale, I really must tend to my guests. I'll leave some clothes in the cab for you then. Merlin will take care of the details. I'm signing off."

"Eggsy -"

"Merlin, I don't need a lecture right now," Eggsy pleads, "I know it was a stupid shite thing to do."

Merlin sighs. "Give me a few minutes, Eggsy, there are a few things I have to straighten out but at least the cab's on its way."

"Thanks, guv."

Merlin hasn't left the line, Eggsy can hear him tapping away.

It suddenly occurs to Eggsy that he'll be spending the night alone with Harry.

He groans. "This is not the perfect outfit," he complains to one of his mum's rosebushes. 

"Perfect outfit?"

"Oh nothin Merlin, ignore me, I was just planning - well, you know, what we talked about in your garden."

"Keep your socks on, Eggsy, and you're only one small item of clothing away from the perfect outfit for bedding Harry."

 

**+**

 

The cab arrives quickly. Eggsy recognizes the driver from Arthur's kitchen staff.

"Hello, Galahad, I'm Fay. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

"No, not at all."

"Arthur's brought you a shirt, and he apologizes for the trackies, he didn't think any of his trousers would fit you comfortably."

Eggsy thanks the stars that Kingsman staff operate at the highest levels of discretion; Fay gives no indication that she finds Eggsy's state of undress anything other than completely normal.

"Fay, you're a total life saver." The button-up is too long for him but it fits well enough if a bit on the loose side. The trackies are everything Eggsy could hope for given his current situation. Eggsy's a bit thicker around the hips and thighs than Harry but the drawstring waist adjusts to his size, and the elastic at the bottom of the legs means he doesn't have to worry about length - Harry and those ridiculously long legs of his. They're incredibly soft and well-worn. Eggsy thinks he might conveniently forget to return them. Shirt looks very expensive though. All in all Eggsy is very comfortable and tries not to dwell on the fact that he's wearing Harry's clothes.

"Eggsy," Merlin's voice again in his ear, "there should be an iPad in the cab as well, it has your alias for the evening. You shouldn't need it, but best be prepared in case some drunk lout ends up in the kitchen. Remember he's just Harry tonight, not that you ever call him Arthur, but keep it in mind. Details are on the iPad but your alias is Gary Adler. Son of one of his neighbors - three doors down, you'll pass the house on the way. She's a high level MI6 intelligence operative, highly covert operations. Keeps a very low profile, sufficient air of mystery around her no one ever really knows what she's up to. We've known her for a long time, she'll corroborate fully. I've also patched through a refresher on Harry's alias just in case. I've got to check in on the other agents now, I trust you can handle yourself from here."

"Thanks, guv." He refrains from adding, "I owe you one," because he probably owes Merlin a fuckton by now.

 

**+**

 

So, Gary Adler. Eggsy reads about him on the way to Kensington. Bit of a douche, if you ask Eggsy. Currently locked out of his house, waiting for the housekeeper to come in the morning, both parents away on business. Apparently sleeping over Mr. Hart's is not a new thing for Gary, his parents are constantly fighting and Mr. Hart is kind enough to let Gary stay over instead of listening to that dreadful racket (Eggsy mouths out the phrase in his faux posh accent with an appropriate pinched look). Mr. Hart asks Gary to house-sit on occasion. Boarding school in Switzerland, college in the States (School of Foreign Service, Georgetown University), currently unemployed but isn't too worried about it on account of his giant trust fund. Eggsy rolls his eyes and hopes none of Harry's dinner guests find their way to the kitchen.

As per Harry's instructions Eggsy uses the service entrance in the front of the house down a set of steps. Past a small entrance hall with shoe racks and coat hooks (Eggsy spies a Rainmaker) and the space opens up into a large bright kitchen where the Kingsman staff of chefs, line cooks, and servers - Eggsy knows they're all trained in combat - are milling about preparing the next course. It smells heavenly and Eggsy's stomach lets out an embarrassing growl.

After introductions and small talk, Eggsy settles in. The staff feed him leftover hors d'oeuvres, set aside bits of food for him to munch on before plating for the guests, and pour him glasses of wine. The staff call him "Gary", entertain him with descriptions of Harry's frequent visits to the kitchen to escape the clutches of an American socialite who's taken a shine to him, and Fay takes a short break to give him a refresher on cutlery etiquette. Eggsy responds to everything in Gary's posh accent, laughs in a manner he thinks an entitled douchebag would, Instagrams all the fancy food platings. He's actually enjoying himself. 

Eggsy's leaning forward on the kitchen island when Harry walks in. He slumps against the wall in mock defeat to the delight of the staff, who tease him and ask if the socialite has started calling him "Prince Harry" yet.

_He looks like a prince,_  Eggsy thinks and his breath hitches. Harry's wearing a tuxedo, his cheeks are flushed from wine, and his hair is a bit fluffier, less done up than his usual. He looks gorgeous. Eggsy considers crawling inside a cupboard. 

"Hello, Gary." Harry gives him a once-over, which from Harry Hart is like a lesson in the Art of Advanced Eyefucking. A quirk of the corners of his lips, a darkening of those whiskey-colored eyes, all gone in a flash. Little details which hold a promise that whatever's going on in Harry's mind as he looks Eggsy up and down, it is sure to be kinky as fuck. 

Fay interrupts, and to her credit she sounds apologetic, "Third course is just about ready, sir."

Harry tears his eyes away from Eggsy. "Ah, thank you, Fay," followed by a more Harry-like exasperated, "How many bloody courses are there?"

Fay smiles. "Only five sir, followed by dessert, then brandy, then tea and coffee."

Harry groans and massages his forehead before turning to walk back up to the dining room. 

 

**+**

 

Around the end of the fifth course, before dessert (which Eggsy "taste tests" two full servings of), the day begins to catch up to Eggsy. He's been awake for over 18 hours at this point. He's slumped over the kitchen counter and is nudged awake by Fay.

"Mr. Adler," she says softly, "I can show you the way to the rooms if you'd like. You'll have to sneak past the dining room but they've gotten a bit raucous in there, shouldn't be too hard."

Eggsy nods and thanks her and the staff for the food and company. Fay leaves him at the bottom of the stairs which lead up to the main floor.

He stops right at the top of the stairs when he hears voices - Harry's and another male's.

"Please, Harry -"

"Edward, you've had too much to drink -"

"Harry, I'm not drunk, I just want... so much..."

Eggsy takes a quick look in the direction of the voices without revealing his hiding spot. He sees Harry boxed in - quite comical really since Harry's a head taller than the other man, who's around Harry's age. He might have been attractive in his youth but he's gone soft in the middle and is showing signs of hair loss, not unexpected for their age. Eggsy reminds himself that Harry's made some deal with the devil where he grows more attractive the older he gets.  _Wanker_.

The look on Edward's face and the way he's pawing at Harry's shirt tell Eggsy everything he needs to know about the situation.  _Was everyone in this fucking party in love with Harry?_

Harry puts his hands on Edward's shoulders, "Edward, this is getting nowhere. Perhaps I should call your driver -"

"F-fuck off," Edward slurs. He jerks away from Harry and stumbles back into the dining room.

"Christ," Harry mutters to himself then turns around when Eggsy steps out of the stairwell. Harry's gaze softens. There's a respectable distance between them.

Then soft and low, only for Eggsy's ears, "I think I like you in my clothes, Gary."

Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the wine, but Eggsy reaches out, hooks two fingers in between the buttons of Harry's shirt and runs his thumb over the fabric - "I think I'd look great in this shirt tomorrow morning, Mr. Hart." 

Harry laughs, he's delighted. This adorable, sleepy young man, dark blond hair sticking out in tufts, flirting with him - are those socks mismatched? - he wants to pick Eggsy up, throw him over his shoulder, and take him upstairs. The business with Edward is quickly forgotten.

"What's going on out here? Harry, is that you, babe?" 

This must be the American socialite. Blonde, beautiful, face a bit too smooth and polished, her neck and hands revealing her true age.

"Ah, Miss Underwood, may I present Gary Adler, son of my neighbor three doors down. Locked himself out - again," Harry says and glares affectionately at Eggsy.

Eggsy's 'Gary Adler entitled douchebag bravado' is back in full effect.

He murmurs, "It's a pleasure, Miss," takes her hand and kisses her fingertips.

When he straightens back up he notices a long, jagged scar running along the length her arm.

"V-day," she explains, head held high. She's proud of her battle scar, as she should be.

Eggsy squeezes the hand he's still holding. "I'm so sorry, Miss Underwood. Whoever stopped that madman should have been quicker." Eggsy means every word.

She waves it off graciously and recovers, "You seem to have escaped unscathed, Mr. Adler."

"Ah yes, I was at Les Deux Alpes at the time - gearing for an off-piste run. No cellular towers up there at 2300m. Dreadful mess when I finally made my way down to base lodge, though, found one of my friends skewered with a ski pole." Eggsy figures some bloke who went to boarding school in Switzerland would know how to ski.

The three are silent for a beat until Harry says, "Well, young man, you need your sleep, you know where the guest bedrooms are." Eggsy doesn't, but nods.

Harry ruffles his hair fondly.  _Oh, she likes that_ , Eggsy observes. He wonders how much trouble he'd be in if he called Harry "Daddy Hart."

"It was a pleasure, Miss Underwood, and Mr. Hart, terribly sorry again, I can't imagine where my keys had got to."

He takes his leave and overhears Harry tell Miss Underwood, "Gary's parents are always bickering, he spent quite a lot of time here before he left for university." She makes a sympathetic noise and the dining room doors close behind them.

Eggsy picks a bedroom out of the smaller ones. He has a vague intention of waiting up for Harry but remembers they hadn't even got to dessert yet. A missed opportunity but Eggsy's body quickly surrenders to the pull of down pillows. At least there's the hope of a dream prompted by the memory of Harry's hand threading through his hair.

 

**+**

  

Eggsy walks down the stairwell as quietly as he can, still wearing Harry's shirt and Eggsy's trackies (yes, they're his now). The dining room door is half open so Eggsy peeks inside. Harry's sitting by himself, wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas. Eggsy can't even tell Harry was up all night drinking and partying.  _That was some deal with the devil_ , he thinks to himself. Harry's scrolling through his phone, a breakfast spread of fresh fruit, toast and various pastries laid out on the table in front of him, as well as a coffee pot and hot water for tea.

"Good morning, Mr. Hart," Eggsy says carefully.

"Ah, good morning, sunshine!" Harry beckons for Eggsy to join him. "It's alright, Eggsy, all the guests have gone and the place has been swept thoroughly for bugs."

"Thank fuck, me head's hurtin from holding it up high for so long."

"You did admirably well, Eggsy, though perhaps Miss Underwood could have done without the image of your skewered ski partner."

Eggsy takes his seat and clears his throat. "So, um, how did you manage to get rid of her? If you did, or did you two...?"

Before Harry's able to answer Fay comes in with a plate of bacon, eggs, and sausages, and sets it in front of Eggsy.

"Good morning, Galahad."

"Come now, Fay, you see how big this dining room table is, call up the staff, we can all have breakfast together," Harry pleads.

"Oh no sir, we're having quite a bit of fun with this, a bit like Downton Abbey, innit?"

"Well in that case Eggsy, you should eat downstairs with the staff, you pleb," Harry says. Fay laughs.

"That's hilarious, Harry. Fanks, Fay, you're the guv'nor."

"To answer your question, Eggsy," Harry says when Fay's gone, "I wove into conversation the fact that Edward is three times my worth, has properties in London, Manhattan, and Dubai, and is incredibly lonely." Harry leans in conspiratorially, "I may have seen them leave together."

Eggsy clears his throat, he has no idea why he can't manage to string together a proper sentence, "But isn't he... were you two ever...?" 

Harry shrugs. Not his problem, apparently. "Once upon a time, Eggsy. We were schoolmates at Eton. Gosh, that was over thirty years ago now, I haven't seen him since, to be honest, except in passing."

Eggsy feels bad for the poor bastard. Thirty years later and Harry looks like the cover model for People magazine's "50 over 50." 

"There a lot of those then, Harry Hart-breaker?" Eggsy tries to sound teasing.

"Well, I am fifty, Eggsy."

They sip coffee in silence. Harry notes that his shirt Eggsy's wearing isn't rumpled enough for him to have slept in it. The thought makes him shift in his seat.

"And you, Eggsy?"

Eggsy blushes, to Harry's delight, "Well, um, not counting honeypots, could prolly count 'em all on one hand, if I'm being honest, pretty sure I've never broken anyone's heart though."

"You're still very young, Eggsy. Time enough to string together a very long list of lovers."

"I only want the one though, Harry."

Harry's silent as if waiting for Eggsy to continue, but Eggsy chickens out and takes a look around the dining room instead, at the chandelier and heavy drapes.

"Did you grow up in a place like this?"

They have a leisurely breakfast. Harry tells Eggsy about his home and his upbringing, how he lost his parents around the time he was shipped off to Eton, how an estranged uncle had taken custody and eventually proposed him for the Galahad role when Charles Dance retired.

Eggsy loves this. It's the second time he's had breakfast with Harry in his home and he loves it just as much as he did the first time. He wants every morning to be like this.

They're interrupted by the doorbell.

"Ah, that must be Lancelot, I told her to drop off your keys, I thought you might want to pop home before heading up to HQ."

Roxy enters the dining room and joins them for breakfast. She raises her eyebrows at Eggsy and he shakes his head in answer to her silent question of whether or not he's asked Harry to dinner yet. 

Harry finishes his breakfast. He tells Eggsy to take the cab home and that he'll walk across Hyde Park to get to the shop. He congratulates Lancelot on a job well done on the recon mission and goes upstairs to get dressed.

Roxy turns to Eggsy, pity in her eyes, "You're an idiot, Eggsy Unwin."

 

**+**

 

Eggsy arrives at the shop later that morning, wearing a 3-piece light grey wool flannel suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark blue patterned tie. He'd given himself a pep talk in the cab on the way over. It was now or never. He didn't want this hanging over his head during the Asia mission, regardless of Harry's answer.

He was pretty confident Harry would say yes, especially after that little scene on the stairwell, but if Harry said no, Eggsy would be a professional about it. Kingsman is his life, and he would work through whatever issues he and Harry would have if it came to that.

He enters the reception area to find Guinevere with his head in his hands, surrounded by paperwork - mostly tedious admin affairs which Arthur is too busy for.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Guinevere says, sharply but not unkindly. "Galahad, care to explain why Kingsman should foot the bill for your speeding ticket?"

"Listen, mate, Agent Livingston is a shit driver, even when he's driving on the other side of the road. If he's to be chauffeuring our Lancelot around London when he's here for visits, he needed some proper lessons."

"And the 'noise nuisance' addendum?"

"Those EVs are super quiet, mate. For the safety of the public, innit? Can't even hear the damn things when they're pulling up alongside ya." Eggsy pouts, "Can't Kingsman make all that disappear, anyway?" 

"Kingsman does not want to overreach, you never know when we might need a bigger favor. We'll pay this one for now for the sake of Miss Lancelot's safety, but next one's coming out of your pay."

"Thanks, G-man," Eggsy straightens his waistcoat, "How do I look?"

Guinevere gives him a knowing smile. "Perfectly edible, Galahad, I'll hold all his calls."

He buzzes Eggsy into Arthur's office.

 

**+**

 

"Eggsy, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Harry rises from his seat, walks around and leans his bum against the front edge of his desk.

Eggsy gets another lesson in the Art of Advanced Eyefucking.

Eggsy takes a deep breath. Nothin to it, it's what he came for, no more dilly-dallying, "Harry, I was wondering if you were free for dinner tonight. I -"

"Yes, Eggsy."

"Really, Harry?" Eggsy's face lights up, he takes an aborted step toward Harry.

Harry spreads his legs apart in invitation and Eggsy moves to stand in between them.

"Was there ever a doubt I would say yes, Eggsy?"

"Of course, Harry, I mean, you're... Harry."

"And you, Eggsy, with that face, those eyes, your heart always on your sleeve? I never had a chance, my dear boy."

Harry cups Eggsy's face with both hands.

"Any qualms regarding my age, Eggsy?"

"Absolutely none, Harry," Eggsy shakes his head violently, "what about you?"

"Well, Eggsy, to quote a hilarious Netflix series I marathoned recently -"

"Fuckin' hell, not you too!"

"Pardon?"

"Never mind," Eggsy grumbles. He grabs lightly for Harry's wrists.

Harry leans in to kiss him, just a soft press of the lips at first, then he licks at Eggsy's bottom lip before taking it in between his and sucking gently. He releases then licks a circle along the inside of Eggsy's top and bottom lips until Eggsy opens up for him. Eggsy lets Harry set the pace. He's pretty sure the only thing keeping him upright is his grip on Harry's wrists. The kiss goes on for ages, not long enough, the rhythm alternating between soft pecks and desperate tonguing. 

Eggsy surges forward and grabs Harry's shirt "God, Harry, please -"

"Shh, shh, darling," Harry says into his mouth.

"Just a quick - I can blow you, under your desk - anything, please Harry, I need -"

Harry draws him in for a hug. "Breathe, Eggsy, breathe."

They stay like that for a long while until Eggsy calms down. "I'm sorry, Harry, I've been wanting this for so long."

"I know, Eggsy. Me too. Since when, may I ask?"

"Since 'manners maketh man'."

Harry smiles and kisses the top of Eggsy's head.

"Now, Eggsy, I am going to give you everything you want out of this relationship, because you deserve it. I promise to take care of you from this moment, for as long as you want me. We'll have dinner tonight, and we'll be together in every sense of the word. OK, my love?"

"You don't hafta wine and dine me, Harry, I'm yours, we can go straight to fucking," Eggsy says into Harry's chest.

Harry chuckles and Eggsy feels it through his chest. He smiles, because he does want everything, the whole bit, nothing less.

Harry releases Eggsy and spins him around toward the door. "Trust me, Eggsy, you'll want to take dinner with me." He opens the door and bends down to whisper in Eggsy's ear, "You'll need the energy afterward."

 

 

 

_**Fin**_  

 

 

 

\--------------------

 

 

**_Epilogue. Thrilla in Manila_ **

 

 

_Hide._  
It's hot in Manila, the air is thick and Galahad's face is glazed with sweat. There are faint sounds from the street below and the much closer buzz of mosquitoes in Galahad's ear as he waits for the limo with their target to arrive. 

_Engage target. Wait for kill order._  
Galahad doesn't hear Percival's shot. It's muffled and he's not as close to the target as Percival is. What he does hear are the screams of the locals as soon as they realize what's happening, the rumble of vehicles and people running, lights flickering and sirens wailing as the emergency response teams come to life. 

"Confirmed, target eliminated," Merlin's voice over comms. "Head to rendezvous point, approximately 10 minutes away for Galahad, 15 minutes for Percival. Driver will be at rendezvous point for 30 minutes at most and not a second past. ETA from rendezvous point to extraction point 30 minutes, possible hostile environment from fallout. Galahad, I'm handing you over to Galapas for the duration of the mission. Percival, I will stay on as your handler. You have 30 minutes to rendezvous point, agents."

_Exfiltrate._  
Galahad breaks down the sniper rifle in under a minute, double and triple checks for FOD, verifies each piece of the rifle is accounted for against the contents chart in his pack. When satisfied that he'd be leaving no trace of himself behind (except for the liter of blood that fucking mosquito had sucked from him), Galahad folds down the compartment and secures it, then hitches the pack onto his back. He makes his way down to where the moped is parked to take him to the rendezvous point.

Percival is already waiting inside the car to take them to the extraction point by the time Galahad arrives.

 

**+**

 

As soon as the Kingsman jet is airborne, Percival fishes around in his pack and pulls out two frosty bottles of San Miguel, the local brew.

He presents a bottle to Eggsy. "Took a shortcut through the rooftops," he says shyly, "had a minute to spare before the driver even got to the rendezvous point."

"Well done then, Percy! Cheers, mate."

They reach cruising altitude - not Mach 2 unfortunately - seriously, nerds, chop chop on that trans-pacific Concorde, Eggsy's got things to do, places to see. He leans back, head cleared of anything mission related for the first time that evening, and thinks about what's waiting for him in London. 

     - G-man leaving boxes of macarons atop his mission dossiers.  
     - Charles sending him Snapchats (Eggsy set up his account) of his recent trip to Mexico, a bikini-clad bird on his lap and a bottle (or two) of Patrón in hand.  
     - Javi and Roxy blowing up his phone with texts about how amazing the other is - which Eggsy knows already, fanks very much.  
     - Merlin preparing colorful bouquets of flowers for Eggsy to present to Harry, which Eggsy first has to take to the library to look up each one to make sure they're not some sort of flesh-eating, biological weaponry spore-releasing frankenstein freaks of nature.  
     - His gorgeous mum, bright smiling eyes, professional hair color done every two weeks, skin unmarked by bruises; Eggsy would hire Jamal and Ryan as her personal bodyguards if he was sure they wouldn't try to pull her for themselves.  
     - JB and his beautiful little flower Daisy, who would probably also need bodyguards of her own at some point in the near future.

  

He's got to get home -

  

to Harry.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Eggsy's 3-piece suit, how could Harry say no:  
> 
> 
> And Colin Firth in a tuxedo, one of the seven wonders of the world, look at that trim waist:  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> Payoff chapter next, y'all!! Up Monday or Tuesday, hopefully.


	6. Catullus, Enabler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... writing smut is hard (pun intended), props to all the legit smut writers out there. I tried to squeeze in (pun intended) as much as I could - bendy Eggsy, some Harry (ahem Colin Firth) body appreciation, random Beyoncé references, voyeurism involving surveillance equipment???, they both like to watch each other, I mean, who wouldn't TBH. I'd say this is a 4 or 5 in the 1 to 10 filthiness scale maybe? Why is this so long?! Probably because I kept interrupting them mid-coitus, the poor dears. 
> 
> IDEK y'all, hope you enjoy.

 

 

_**Afterword. Catullus, Enabler** _

  
  
  
"Arthur, sir," Guinevere's deep voice announces over the intercom, "Galahad is here."  
  
"You know to let him straight through unless I'm in a meeting, Guinevere." Harry's a bit puzzled, usually he only has to tell Guinevere something once.  
  
"Well, sir," Guinevere clears his throat, "he's offering to take over security for the remainder of my shift, so that I may take off a bit early this evening."  
  
Harry smiles and leans back in his chair. "Well, you tell me, Guinevere. You've watched Galahad in action, you've sparred with him on occasion. Is he up to the task, do you think?"  
  
"With the exception of yourself, Arthur, I can think of no one more capable of protecting you."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes and wonders what Eggsy had bribed him with. "Very well, Guinevere, you're dismissed. Send Galahad in, please. Enjoy your evening."  
  
  
  
**+**  
  
  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Eggsy."  
  
Eggsy saunters over to one side of Harry's desk, both hands in the pockets of his slim-fitting black trousers. He's wearing a black leather jacket over a crisp white shirt - Harry admires the way the buttons strain against Eggsy's pecs - a modern slim knit tie, and customary oxfords. His hair is fluffed to muss up his Galahad side part.  
  
He looks delicious. Harry's mouth waters.  
  
"You've been a naughty old man, Harry."  
  
"Oh?" Harry blinks up at Eggsy innocently.  
  
Eggsy shrugs off his jacket and throws it onto the small chesterfield sofa in front of Harry's desk. Harry raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

"Been brushing up on my Latin, luv.  _Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo_ ," Eggsy recites slowly, consonants extra sharp, just like Harry had done outside the library.

Eggsy rolls up his shirt sleeves, leans against the desk, and frowns down at Harry (which Harry finds adorable). He drops his voice low, because this is a very serious accusation, "Harry, we coulda been fuckin a week earlier than we were if you'd bothered to translate it for me."

"I do apologize, my dear," but they both know Harry isn't the least bit sorry, "I may have been a bit obtuse at the time."  
  
Harry rises from his chair then walks around it to push it into his desk. He shrugs off his gun holster and hangs it on the back of his chair.

"How about I make it up to you with," Harry pauses for emphasis, "a  _physical_  translation of that particular verse?"  
  
Eggsy relaxes and grins. It doesn't take much, Harry's always so easy for him.  
  
Harry pretends to tidy up his desk, returns a pen to a side drawer but Eggsy isn't fooled, it's hard to miss the tell-tale sheen of a foil wrapper. Harry pockets the items and walks over to where Eggsy's standing then sits at the very edge of his desk. Eggsy turns to face him.  
  
Harry runs his hand down Eggsy's chest then tugs at his tie, and jerks his head in the direction of the sofa. Eggsy loosens his tie, doesn't bother undoing the knot completely, just pulls it over his head and tosses it somewhere in the vicinity of where his jacket had landed. He unlaces and toes off his oxfords, nudges them carefully under the sofa. His shirt and undershirt follow, then he unbuckles his belt and in one swift motion pulls down his briefs and trousers, his belt still in the loops. The discarded clothes are strewn haphazardly along the sofa. Harry pays them no mind.  
  
They stand face to face, staring at each other and blinking.  
  
Finally Harry huffs, "For goodness sake, Eggsy, socks off, please!"  
  
"Oh, oops," Eggsy gives a mock apologetic shrug then dances around on one leg to take off his socks, which, Harry notices, are a matching pair this time.  
  
As soon as Eggsy straightens up, completely naked now, cock beginning to stiffen, Harry takes several quick long strides forward, forcing Eggsy to shuffle backward until his back hits a bookshelf.  
  
Harry leans in and devours Eggsy's mouth in a kiss. It starts out rough, carnal, and Harry gives no indication of letting up, nipping at Eggsy's lips with his teeth, shoving his tongue as far back into Eggsy's mouth as he can, gripping his hips with those long, strong fingers. Eggsy gives as good as he's getting, sucking every last bit of earl grey from Harry's tongue and biting back every chance he can get. Eggsy has both hands in Harry's hair and he's up on his toes trying to pull him down but he never manages to wrestle control away from Harry. All he can do is moan into Harry's mouth with increasing desperation (and volume), and when Harry moves his hands from Eggsy's hips to his ass Eggsy is free to grind against Harry's still-clothed erection.  
  
Harry eases up a bit but doesn't break off completely. He takes Eggsy's right hand and disentangles it from his hair. Still crowding into Eggsy's space, without breaking eye contact - they're way past Advanced Eyefucking now - Harry brings Eggsy's hand up to his mouth and sucks on his index and middle fingers, hollowing out his cheeks and licking around them in slow circles, coating them liberally with spit. Then he guides Eggsy's hand to his inner thigh.

"Loosen yourself up a bit, Eggsy, for me."  
  
Harry boxes Eggsy in, one arm braced against the bookshelf. Eggsy keeps his eyes on Harry's face but Harry's looking down, eyes half-lidded, watches as Eggsy works himself. Slowly at first, just rimming his hole with his index finger, then pushing in his middle finger with a loud, drawn out groan, using his left hand to massage his balls and lift them a bit for better access.  
  
"Beautiful." Harry takes a deep breath, bites his lip. He props his other hand up on the bookshelf so that Eggsy's trapped between his arms then bends down to suck bruises on Eggsy's neck and down his chest, pausing to lick and bite at his nipples.  
  
"Fuck, Harry, please," Eggsy begs, because it's nowhere near enough for him - he needs more, a lot more, he needs Harry's longer fingers, Harry inside him, "Harry I need you -"  
  
Harry shuts him up with a kiss but Eggsy can feel him undo his belt buckle and Eggsy finally gets some skin-on-skin contact when Harry frees his cock.  
  
Harry pulls away from Eggsy, unwraps the condom and quickly, expertly rolls it on, then dribbles a generous amount of lube and warms it up with his fingers.  
  
"How's the hamstring, Eggsy?" Harry asks conversationally, like he's inquiring about the weather.  
  
Eggsy gives him a sly grin. He pulls his finger out of his hole and raises both arms, grabs for the nearest shelf above his head. He balances on his left foot and oh-so-slowly raises his right leg, brushing his toe against Harry's leg, then stomach, then chest, until his leg is fully extended and his calf is resting on Harry's shoulder.  
  
"Fuck!" Harry growls, and for a split second Eggsy thinks Harry might literally tear him open with one punishing shove but no, Harry reins himself in - just barely - and closes the space between them so that Eggsy's leg is sandwiched between their chests. He pushes two slick fingers into Eggsy's arsehole, scissors them for a few seconds and follows quickly with a third finger.  
  
"Eggsy," Harry pleads after a few moments of fucking Eggsy with his fingers, voice low and dangerous, breath coming in faster and harder.  
  
"Yeah Harry, I been ready, get in me already," Eggsy pants, then moans loudly and bumps his head on the bookshelf when Harry's fingers brush against his prostate. Eggsy's completely off balance, doesn't know how long he can hold his position, but as soon as Harry pulls his fingers out he tucks his arm under Eggsy's left thigh, lifting him up off the ground for more leverage, and isn't that just the hottest fucking thing ever to Eggsy. 

Harry takes several strokes to ease into Eggsy, pulling out then driving in deeper with each following thrust. Eggsy loves this bit, loves when Harry breaches him, the exquisite pain, Harry whispering in his ear, reminding him to breathe, telling him how good he feels around his cock. 

Finally Harry's as deep as he'll go. He gives Eggsy's ass a firm squeeze in warning and begins to fuck him in earnest. Short shallow thrusts at first, then driving in longer, harder. Books are dangling over the edge of the shelves, threatening to knock them both unconscious but neither of them notices.

Harry's panting into Eggsy's collarbone, mouthing at it, forearm straining under Eggsy but Eggsy's so tight, so hot around him, he's egging Harry on with enthusiastic hip thrusts and a nonstop litany of incoherent words and curses. Eggsy reaches up high for a better hold on the shelf, grabs the top of a book instead and nearly pulls it off the shelf.  
  
Then the room starts spinning, and Eggsy should be more surprised, he knows he hasn't come yet, and yeah, alright, he and Harry have mind-blowing sex all the time, but maybe they're just on some other insane level right now, he's dizzy and breathless, feels like he's on a high, can't grasp anything beyond how good Harry feels inside him -

Suddenly the spinning stops and they're engulfed in darkness.  
  
  
  
**+**  
  
  
  
"Shit."  
  
Harry slowly, carefully pulls out of Eggsy and lowers Eggsy's leg. He fumbles for the light switch and flips it on. Suddenly the room is bathed in soft light and an air filtration device hums to life. The walls of the hidden room are a calming grey-blue, the ceilings much lower than Arthur's office. There's a small sleeper sofa against one wall, a comfortable looking upholstered armchair, and an open doorway through which Eggsy can see a small washroom. Recessed into the far end of the wall is a 32-inch flat screen video monitor display and a control panel with blinking lights, and there's a laptop sitting on a small table near the corner.  
  
"Harry. What. The. Fuck."  
  
Harry sighs. "Panic room, Eggsy, I had completely forgotten about it. No one's ever used it since I've been with Kingsman, not even Chester King in his advanced age, but it's monitored and maintained nonetheless. I believe Guinevere checks the room's surveillance every morning to make sure no one's hiding in it. It's part of my regularly scheduled safety drills, what to do in an emergency and all of that nonsense."  
  
He looks around and spots the control panel, "Hang on a tick, I've got to disable the alarms before SCO19 come tearing through the shop. Do not pick up any of those handsets," Harry continues, motioning to a group of old-fashioned corded telephones along the wall, "or calls will be placed automatically to the police and emergency services."  
  
Eggsy watches in disbelief as Harry goes up to a panel, goes through a retinal scan, and punches in a series of numbers which Eggsy assumes will call off the brigade.  
  
"Give me a minute or two, Eggsy," Harry says, unrolling the condom and chucking it into the bin in the washroom then walking back to the bookshelf - "I have to reset the latch from this side - security feature so that no one else can enter the room after the initial activation - then we can get out of here and pick up where we left off..."  
  
While Harry's busy with the latch Eggsy goes up to the table and flips open the laptop screen. The laptop awakens and opens directly into the surveillance system program. There are several tiles on the screen with a different live video feed on each. Eggsy recognizes the rooms in most of them - Arthur's office, the dining room, the shop below, the storefront along Savile Row. At the moment he's only interested in one, though. Finally he sees the tile, recognizes the small room and spies some movement where Harry should be working near the bookcase. Eggsy grins to himself and rubs his hands together. A couple of touchpad clicks later and Eggsy's managed to isolate that particular feed into a full-screen display on the laptop. He switches on the video monitor display and sure enough the room comes into view in the larger flat screen.  
  
The image is desaturated, there's a slight fisheye angle but it's not too distorted. The camera is angled downward but the room's ceiling is low enough that the zoom level is sufficient for what Eggsy's planning. He walks back until he sees himself on screen, gives himself a small wave and a wink, and from there it's not too difficult to find the camera - bolted to the wall, right above of the video monitor. Eggsy's heart rate quickens in anticipation.  
  
"Oh Haaa-rrryyyy," Eggsy singsongs. His back is toward the camera and he's dancing, shaking his bum.  
  
Harry stops what he's doing to survey the scene behind him. With Eggsy's pert little ass on the video monitor, it doesn't take long for Harry to figure out what Eggsy has in mind. Harry's torn between laughing at his boyfriend, gyrating - where did he learn to shake his ass like that? Too many Beyoncé videos - and apprehension at watching himself on screen. For all the honeypots he's done, closely monitored by a handler, he's never been the sex tape type. Never say never, though, especially when Eggsy is involved. His half-hard cock makes the decision for him, giving a twitch of interest and starting to stiffen.  
  
Harry realizes he didn't bring another condom into the room, although the small bottle of lube is still in his pocket.  
  
"Eggsy, my love," Harry says as he unbuttons his shirt, "I was quite keen on the 'fully clothed gentleman fucking his fully naked, much younger lover' aesthetic, but we'll have to defer for now. I'd rather spare my bespoke in case things get messy."  
  
"Wow Harry you are total shite at sex talk," Eggsy says, rolling his eyes. His hard-on seems to disagree.

Eggsy strokes himself while he eyes Harry appreciatively, takes in Harry's lithe frame, muscled torso tattooed with fading scars, trim waist and legs that go on for miles.  _Now that is a good-looking man_ , he thinks to himself. Eggsy's young, and youth is beautiful, but who knows what he'll look like at fifty; Harry was adorable when he was Eggsy's age and he's incredibly handsome now. Plus that long, thick cock, knows what to do with it, and that's on top of everything else Harry is - the whole package, really.  _I should put a ring on it_ , Eggsy thinks, then blushes at the unbidden, but not unwelcome, thought.  
  
To cover up his embarrassment Eggsy beatboxes a striptease rhythm as Harry works on the rest of his clothing - "boom cha cha boom cha cha boom cha cha boom."  
  
Harry swipes playfully at Eggsy's bum with his belt - "Oh, that's how it is, Mr. Hart? But I've been sooo good," Eggsy purrs.  
  
The look on Harry's face suggests he's had enough monkeying around. Eggsy reaches for Harry's erection and tugs gently at it as he maneuvers him into position, looking over his shoulder at the flat screen until he's got Harry right where he wants him, then he sinks down gracefully to his knees.

Harry throws his head back and groans at the sudden warmth and wetness of Eggsy's mouth. Eggsy has one hand on the base of Harry's dick and he begins a slow, leisurely rhythm of pumping and sucking. The sounds he's making are just as filthy as his usual stream of invective.

Harry threads his fingers through Eggsy's hair, lets Eggsy set the pace. He has yet to look at the video monitor; he doubts it could rival his current view, looking down on Eggsy and watching that luscious mouth work its magic on him. Harry reaches down, puts his other palm up against Eggsy's cheek, feels his own dick through the thin skin. Eggsy hums in pleasure and it sends sparks up Harry's spine.

Eventually curiosity gets the better of him and he looks over to the flat screen display. Eggsy's a vision - one hand on Harry's dick, the other holding firmly to Harry's thigh, knees spread wide, back arched, neglected cock beading with pre-cum, mouth bobbing up and down along Harry's penis. Harry's breath catches, he grits his teeth. He makes a mental note to save the security footage. 

"Eggsy you perfect creature," Harry moans and inadvertently shoves his dick deeper into Eggsy's mouth, feels Eggsy's nose brush against his thatch. Eggsy gives a choked yelp in surprise but he recovers quickly, it's nothing he can't handle. He pulls up a little, tugs Harry's foreskin down and licks around the head for a while, then gives a gentle scrape with his teeth at the base of the head in retaliation.

"Fuck!" Harry cups Eggsy's face with both hands and stills him. "Too close, my love."

Eggsy pouts with Harry's dick in his mouth - Harry didn't know such a thing was possible - then releases him reluctantly with a soft plop, "But I want you to come, Harry." 

"You first, darling."

Eggsy stands up and gives Harry a quick peck on the lips, "Oh, luv, always such a gentleman."

Harry spins Eggsy around so that they're both facing the camera, Eggsy in front, and guides them both down to kneeling positions. He roots around for the bottle of lube and warms up a small amount then pushes two slick fingers into Eggsy. 

Eggsy arches his back, reaches behind him and tries to pull Harry toward him, "Harry please, I'm still so loose for you, please -"

Harry doesn't need to be told twice - seconds later Eggsy feels the head of Harry's cock push against his arsehole. Harry draws his knees closer while Eggsy spreads his farther apart so that Harry can pull him in closer. He's got his left arm wrapped around Eggsy's chest like a vise, holding their bodies flush against each other, and his right hand's digging a bruise into Eggsy's thigh with his long, strong fingers.

Eggsy's eyes are glued to the screen. He raises his arms, reaches behind him to loop them around the back of Harry's neck, puffs out his chest and arches his back. He watches as Harry - flushed, sweaty, hair starting to curl and falling in loose waves over his forehead - fucks him from behind, timing his grunts with his thrusts, occasionally dipping his head to gnaw at and moan into Eggsy's shoulder. 

"Fuuuuck, so good Harry, so fucking good, harder, come on!"

Harry looks up at the screen, and he feels like his heart is going to burst. Eggsy, with his back arched, purpling love marks dotting his chest, chiseled abs on full display, cock bobbing up and down, shiny and leaking - Eggsy is so beautiful in his arms. Harry tightens his grip around Eggsy and fucks him harder.

"God, you are gorgeous, Eggsy," Harry groans into Eggsy's shoulder. He looks up and meets Eggsy's gaze on the screen. He lifts his right hand off Eggsy's thigh and reaches around to grab Eggsy's cock.

"Yes, Harry!" Now Eggsy's fucking into Harry's fist while getting it from behind and it's so, so good, then Harry arches his back and hits his sweet spot - "Fuuuuuck me" - he's not going to last much longer. Eggsy's head lolls back onto Harry's shoulder, he closes his eyes, he's so close, feels himself tightening up, then suddenly Harry's cupping his chin, turning his head and forcing him to look at the screen.

"Watch, Eggsy, you're so beautiful when you come."

And Eggsy does, with a shout, watches as ropes of cum coat Harry's fist and spill over onto the carpet. Harry slows down his thrusts but fucks him through his orgasm and Eggsy catches a glimpse of the moment he clenches down - Harry groaning, pressing his face into Eggsy's shoulder, holding Eggsy tight to his chest.

When Eggsy's spent, Harry relaxes his grip, runs a hand from the small of Eggsy's back up to his neck while he bends him over until Eggsy's resting on his elbows. Harry grabs Eggsy's hair and tugs his head up, and Eggsy gets to watch Harry fuck him doggy-style, hard and fast and noisy, until Harry comes and they both collapse onto the floor.

 

**+**

 

When Eggsy resurfaces he's on his back, legs splayed, and Harry's lying on his side next to him, propped up on his elbow.

Harry's playing connect-the-dots with Eggsy's moles, tracing constellations along his chest and arms, pausing to rub gently with his thumb at the marks he left on Eggsy's pale skin.

When Harry's fingers ghost along the "V" of Eggsy's pelvic region, Eggsy reaches out and grabs Harry's wrist. Eggsy props himself up on one elbow, stares into Harry's eyes and guides Harry's hand to his opening. 

"Darling, you must be incredibly sore," Harry chides gently.

"Please, 'arry, it hurts more when you ain't in me, please," Eggsy begs, desperate, his heart beating visibly through his chest.

And so Harry obliges. He sits up and maneuvers Eggsy's leg around him so that he's kneeling in front of Eggsy in between his legs, then digs two fingers knuckles-deep into Eggsy. Eggsy giggles at the squelching sound but is cut off when Harry crooks his fingers and hits Eggsy's prostate on the out-thrust.

Harry watches, mesmerized, as Eggsy throws his head back, maintains his weak hold on Harry's wrist while he draws circles with his hips, ab muscles contracting, making small but frantic movements around Harry's long fingers. Harry barely needs to move his hand at this point, except to crook his fingers now and then, which he's glad for, his forearm's still sore from earlier.

Harry licks his lips at the sight of Eggsy's stiffening cock.  

Eggsy looks over his shoulder at the flat screen display and the needy, desperate noises he'd been making turn to louder moans and grunts. He leans back farther to open up the view, and -

"Oh my god!" he yells as he watches Harry bend down to lick a stripe from the base of his penis to the tip. 

It's thick, not as long as Harry's, but Harry can just about fit its entire length in his mouth in one go. Harry takes his time, loving every second of having Eggsy's dick in his mouth, brings his free hand up and wraps his fingers around the base.

Eggsy collapses onto his back, grabs onto Harry's hair. It's killing him, he's a mess, he's doesn't know whether to thrust up into Harry's mouth or push himself down onto Harry's fingers. Harry lets go for a moment, "Just keep still, my love, let me take care of you," then brings his mouth back, only this time he noses along the flesh behind Eggsy's balls, mouths gently at that sensitive spot, then uses a finger on his free hand to apply more pressure to the hard flesh. He licks up along Eggsy's dick again, and not long after Harry swallows him down all the way, Eggsy comes for the second time that evening. 

  
  
**+**

 

Harry cleans Eggsy off as best he can with the limited supplies in the washroom. He allows Eggsy a brief window of time to recover - just long enough for Harry to slip on his trousers and shoes and throw his shirt over his shoulder. He knows if he leaves Eggsy down for too long he'll drift off to sleep and Harry will never get him out of the room, and wouldn't that be a sight for Guinevere in the morning.

Harry bends down, coaxes Eggsy, "Up we go, darling," and hauls him up gently.

They're both facing the bookshelf now, Harry standing behind Eggsy, holding him up with an arm around his waist. Eggsy's resting his head on Harry's shoulder, his legs are still trembly, his body's gone limp and noodly. Harry waits patiently for Eggsy to regain awareness, caresses him, forms small circles with his thumb along Eggsy's inner thigh. Harry spots the bruise he was working on earlier on Eggsy's shoulder and can't resist - he sucks gently on it, peppers his shoulder with gentle bites - why does this boy taste so damn good?

He licks his way up Eggsy's neck then whispers in his ear, "We'll continue this at home, my love."  
  
"Mmm, you're fucking insatiable, Harry," Eggsy says fondly, his voice hoarse.  
  
"As you so beautifully recited for me earlier this evening, Eggsy, _Pedicabo ego vos **et**  irrumabo_, 'I will sodomize you  _and_  face-fuck you' - 'and', not 'or' - and I am nothing if not thorough when it comes to you."

"Holy fuck, Harry," the thought of what's in store for him is enough to get Eggsy moving on his own toward the spinning platform.

"What a terrible bodyguard you'd make, Eggsy, you haven't even checked the monitor for the all-clear," Harry teases as he switches off the light and pulls on the latch.

"Oh please, Harry, we all know G-man is strictly ornamental. You could lay an entire army to waste in the time it takes me to say Gui-ne-vere."

 

**+**

 

Eggsy hopes that wasn't their last foray into the panic room, for non-emergency reasons, of course.

"'arry, which of them books on the shelf holds the secret latch?" 

"King James Bible," Harry responds, but actually he has no idea.

"You're an arse."

Eggsy manages to slip his briefs and socks back on and has one leg inside his trousers when he gives up and collapses onto the sofa.  
  
Harry's already buttoned up, belt buckled, gun holster back on.  
  
"Tsk," he tuts at Eggsy but bends over to help him into his trousers. Eggsy makes a lewd gesture with his crotch toward Harry's face when he tries to get Eggsy's trousers over his bum. Harry helps Eggsy into his undershirt next, muttering under his breath about spoiling the boy, followed by his shirt, then buckles his belt for him after tucking his tails in. Harry undoes the knot in Eggsy's tie and rolls it up neatly before kneeling down to help Eggsy into his oxfords. After lacing them up Harry raises his head and is eye level with Eggsy's crotch. Eggsy's half hard.  
  
"Goodness, Eggsy, again? Already?" Harry marvels.  
  
"It's your gun holster, luv."  
  
"What, this?" Harry looks down, incredulous, at the gun holster he's worn almost every day of his adult life. It's developed a deep patina over the years and it's shiny with diligent, regular care.  
  
"Harry, do you have any idea what you look like, what it does to me? Had to purchase extra storage for all the photos I 'ave of you wearin' it."  
  
"Eggsy, unlike some people in this room I do not take selfies every five seconds," Harry scolds, alarmed that Eggsy had taken so many photos of him without his knowledge.  
  
"Shame."  
  
"Alright, my love, up you go." Eggsy lifts both arms toward Harry, clearly expecting to be carried to the cab waiting outside the shop.  
  
"Eggsy, darling, I would risk life and limb to carry you out of harm's way, but I am not going to carry your macaron-laden arse because you're too lazy to move."  
  
"Oi! It's your fault me legs've gone all wobbly."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes and helps Eggsy to his feet. As soon as he's standing Eggsy throws his arms around Harry's neck.  
  
"I love you, Harry."  
  
"I love you, Eggsy."  
  
Harry pulls him in for a tight hug, releasing him after a few moments to murmur gently in his ear, "Sit to my left in the cab, would you please, Eggsy?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
Harry lays his left hand on Eggsy's half-hard cock, palms him through his trousers, "Eggsy my love, if I'm to relieve you on the way home I'd rather give my right arm a rest."

Then he moves his hand up for a firm grip on Eggsy's neck, almost in a chokehold and whispers gruffly, "I cannot wait to get you home, darling, shove my cock deep down your throat..."  
  
"Jesus, fuck, Harry, please shut up, you're driving me insane."  
  
  
  
"And here I was just about to recite more Latin poetry."  
  
  
  
  
  
_**Fin**_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me I'm not the only one re: the gun holster -
> 
> Why does Colin Firth happen to good people? I'm just trying to live my life.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! You've made my writing (& smut!) debut very enjoyable.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://thorins-arkenstone.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hello, but it's not a writing blog, since I don't claim to be a writer.
> 
> No current plans for more fics, but if inspiration strikes I won't ignore it ;)

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic/first smut ever for any fandom so comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Self beta-ed and very obviously not Brit-picked.


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